Another Life
by BerkieLynn
Summary: Series of one-shots set in an alt-season 3 with the not-so-significant others removed from the picture. How might things have played out differently? Entry in the Castle Hiatus Ficathon 2013. Cover art by dtrekker.
1. Summer - Kate

_A/N: And so it begins, my hiatus adventure. This fic is my participation in the Castle Ficathon 2013 challenge._

_Setting is alt-S3 and explores how things would have gone differently if there were not significant others in the way. This will be a series of one-shots (or maybe two or three-shots depending on the episode) that will (most likely) not be related. (If they do relate to a previous chapter, I will be sure to notate that in the A/N at the beginning of the chapter.) I hope you'll come along with me as I explore this different side to our beloved partners._

_The first 2 chapters will cover the summer before season 3 starts and will serve as the basic backdrop for all subsequent chapters._

_We start with Kate following the events of 2X24, A Deadly Game._

* * *

**Summer - Kate**

* * *

She spends the first night crying herself to sleep. Or at least she was trying to sleep when the weight of everything crashed over her and angry, bitter tears started flowing. Now she's just sobbing on the tile of her bathroom floor. She's angry at herself, at the situation, at her (their?) shitty timing. As she rips another tissue from the box, she decides it will be the last one she uses tonight. It's time to pick herself up and move on.

Because he is.

How did she even get to this point? She's spent the last year and a half fending off this guy's advances and now she's sobbing about the fact that he's moved on? At what point did the switch flip? Why did she not realize that even as her brain was building logical arguments against getting involved with him, her heart was betraying her?

She's totally fallen for Richard Castle. Head over freaking heels and every other cliché. This isn't her, this isn't how she operates. Things with Tom were how she does relationships, that's why it was so easy to fall into something with him. They were both busy, both had their own schedules. They'd have dinner now and then, talk on the phone when they could, no pressure. He didn't make demands on her, didn't try to worm his way in like Castle did. And she thought that was how she liked it. But she meant it when she told Tom that that wasn't what she was looking for. Everything she thought she wanted had shifted and she hadn't even realized it.

Not until it was too late.

A fresh wave of tears overtakes her and she surrenders to it, to this new life. She allows them to flow freely, wash away the old and move into the new. And she wants that with all of her being, to be new, to be…more. Castle showed her what she can be by seeing more in her and asking more of her than most people do. And she may not be able to have that with Castle but she wants it. An open heart and a full life. So she'll try to grab it.

Without him.

* * *

But the very next day when she comes into work and that chair is beside her desk, empty and mocking, she remembers how much it hurts, trying to be more, trying to be open. And that door slams shut. She almost moves the chair but decides that she needs the reminder.

She cries again that night. Because of a life she can't have. Will probably never have.

* * *

It takes almost a month before she gives into Lanie's request to go out. Her friend has noticed that she's been down since Castle left. She's still working, still closing cases at the same rate but it's all being done methodically, almost cold. Castle's departure has taken all the fun out of her. So Lanie decides that it's her mission to put it back.

They go to a bar that Lanie's heard about but neither have ever been to. It's dark and almost too loud but Kate find that she likes it that way, likes that she can just nurse a drink without having to put on too much false cheer. Lanie runs into a classmate from medical school who invites them to join their table. When they learn that Kate is the lone cop in this group of doctors, they all start asking her questions, eager to avoid their own shop talk for something new. She's hesitant at first but they're genuinely interested and so she opens up, talks about how rewarding it is, how good it feels to get justice for grieving families. She notices one of the men leaning forward, the low light catching in his chocolate eyes, an inviting smile gracing his handsome face. He offers his own stories, how rewarding it is to provide medical care in third world countries, how amazing it feels to see a mother cry over her healthy child. They smile at each other, a thread of mutual understanding between them.

When the talk turns to individual conversations, he comes around the table, introduces himself just as Josh. No pretention about being a doctor, just a down to earth person. And then they talk. About everything. Find out that they both have motorcycles, both like old sci-fi movies. Something unfurls in her heart, a knot binding loosening and she wonders if she could still have that new life. At the end of the evening, she gets bold, gives him her number without him asking for it, without even asking if he wants it. He gives his back, leans in to press a kiss to her cheek, murmurs, "We'll talk soon" in her ear.

She and Lanie leave arm in arm, her steps light, a smile that she can't turn off curving her lips. They wave down cabs and she hugs her friend before they part ways.

"I needed this, thank you."

"I'm glad you finally stopped fighting me," Lanie tosses back.

"Well, I think maybe we weren't meant to go out until tonight." Kate ducks her head, sure that she's blushing.

"Mmmm-hmmm," is all that Lanie replies, a knowing smirk on her face.

"Lady, let's go!" the cabbie shouts from the car.

"I'm coming!" Kate yells in return. "Thanks again," she says to her friend as she slides into the car. She gives her address to the annoyed man behind the wheel but never drops her smile.

* * *

Josh calls her the next afternoon and they set a dinner date for two days later. And then an hour before they're supposed to meet, he calls to cancel because he was called into an emergency surgery. They reschedule for the next night but she has to cancel on him when a body drops. She asks about the weekend and finds out that he's headed for Africa on a Doctors Without Borders mission.

And there it is, the same old pattern. Too busy for anything. For a real connection. Not enough time to get to really know each other. And it's not enough.

"It was really great to meet you but this isn't what I'm looking for right now. Have a good trip," she offers half-heartedly.

He sighs on the other end of the phone, a slow release of air that rings with disappointment. "Can I call you when I get back?"

"No," she tries to sound regretful, but she's pretty sure it comes out more matter of fact.

"Okay. Yeah, it was great to meet you, Kate. I hope you find what you're looking for."

"Me too," she murmurs.

Except that she already has.

* * *

A week later, Kate's at the morgue getting the autopsy report on their latest victim. When she's done, Lanie wastes no time switching gears.

"So what's happening with Hot Doctor Man?" she asks, grinning.

Kate grimaces. "Nothing. Schedules didn't match up, so…" She shrugs, hoping that's the last of it.

"So you find time when you can, what's the big deal? That's how you've done it before."

But that's the whole point.

Lanie raises her eyebrows at her. "So that's not enough now?"

Wait, what? "Did I…say that out loud?"

Lanie shifts back, settles on her heels, folds her arms over her chest. "You did. What's going on in that head, Kate?"

Everything. Too much. An endless loop of Castle's face and Castle's words and she just can't. Get. Over. Him. He's in her head and her heart and nothing else matches up to what she thought they could be.

She could lie to her friend or at least evade around what she's saying but she knows Lanie and it will come out eventually so she skips all the pretense and just tells her.

"He invited me to the Hamptons. And I broke up with Tom to go with him. And then…" she trails off, waves a hand through the air, hoping it's enough, that even with the lack of a name that she's not sure she can say right now her friend will understand.

She does. Lanie's face falls and there's too much pity in her eyes for Kate to look at for long. "Oh, honey."

"Yeah," is all she offers, throat suddenly tight, eyes too moist.

"What are you gonna do?"

She shakes her head ruefully. It's the question she's been asking herself over and over but, "That's the part I can't figure out."

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._

_All my thanks to Lou (lousiemcdoogle) for the prompt and to Bee (seilleanmor) for talking me back from the ledge. Til the wheels fall off, partner._


	2. Summer - Rick

_A/N: This is an alt-S3 story and explores how things would/could have gone differently if there were not significant others in the way. This will be told through a series of one-shots (or maybe two or three-shots depending on the episode) that will (most likely) not be related. (If they do relate to a previous chapter, that will be notated in the A/N at the beginning of the chapter.) _

_This and the previous chapter cover the summer(or in this case, the beginning of) preceding season 3 and will serve as the basic backdrop for all subsequent chapters._

* * *

**Summer - Rick**

* * *

It surprises him how easily they fall back into it. He had answered Gina's call with the intention of telling her off and then she was forgiving him and he was telling her something about Alexis and it just…happened. It was exactly what he needed exactly when he needed it. Watching Kate with Demming was becoming masochistic but that last day on the case was better because he knew that Gina would be showing up so they could head out to the house and it made everything easier to deal with.

It made the buzzing chorus of how amazing and wonderful and beautiful Kate Beckett was a little quieter. It made the hollowed out feeling he got when he saw her with him a little less empty. It didn't make it go away, but he could manage his feelings for the first time in a long time.

The first couple of days in the Hamptons are amazing. The time whirs by in a haze of ocean and sun and sex. One morning, Gina pushes him towards the study to write and he finds that he wants to, wants to get some things down. But when he sits in front of the computer, reality snaps back into sharp relief. Because Nikki's not just a character, she's Kate. No matter how much he insists that they're different, in his head they're the same person. And it hurts all over again. The woman in this house with him is great and he will always have affection for her but she's a balm over a wound. She's soothing the sting of Kate rejecting his offer. Not just rejecting his offer but rejecting him. She chose someone else. He's been at her side for a year and a half but a few days with Demming and suddenly she's "with Tom."

Ugh, Demming.

And they were somewhere else around the Hamptons over the weekend in some B&B if he overheard that conversation correctly. Probably for the best that he and Gina just stuck to the house. Because he's not sure he could have handled running into them. Not that the possibility of that was great but still, with his luck, she would have been right in front of him. Looking all sun kissed and happy and gorgeous. And it would have taken all his willpower to not just lay everything at her feet and beg her to come spend the summer with him.

Okay, so maybe Gina isn't quite a balm on that wound. It's more like she's just a pressure bandage, keeping it from flowing out but not actually fixing it. He sighs heavily and scrubs a hand over his face, contemplates a drink at 10 in the morning. His eyes fall on his laptop and suddenly, it needs out. He might not be writing for the book but he needs to write, needs his feelings bound up into words so that he can process them. And maybe make some effort to work through them. Because he needs to get over Kate Beckett.

So he opens a new document and just writes, doesn't even try to make it coherent because this is only for him and he understands the twists and turns that his feelings are taking. But it doesn't help. He can't stop seeing her face, can't stop hearing her voice. She's in his head and his heart and no one else will match up to her. Writing about her, about how he feels about her is only making it worse. He's suddenly hit with a fierce wave of missing her and shoves the computer onto the desk, slams the lid down when the words mock him from the screen.

He stands and turns to the window. The view in here is why he chose this room for the study, had the walls converted to bookshelves, put in a couple of window seats. He drops onto the cushions, places his forehead against the glass. He looks out over the green lawn, watches the tide crash against the sand.

He needs to get out, but he doesn't want to have to explain to Gina why. Then, almost as if on cue, he spots her making her way down to the pool, towel and book in hand. With any luck, she'll be out there for a while, might not even notice that he left. He slips out the front door and walks down to the little corner store, buys a bottle of water and then makes his way to the beach. He wanders the shore, picking up interesting shells and bits of drift wood. It mostly distracts him, he only occasionally has hazel eyes and brunette hair in his mind's eye.

He decides that it will be a process. Get over her bit by bit, just use distractions until it's not Beckett TV in his head.

Gina's in the kitchen when he gets back, pulling out bread and lunchmeat, an assortment of fruit already on the counter. "There you are. Needed a walk to clear your head?" she asks as she makes her way over to him, presses a kiss to his lips.

It's not right, not who he wants kissing him but he's looking for distractions and here's one right in front of him. So he winds his arms around her, holds her tight for a moment. "Yeah," he answers, "just needed to work something out."

He lets her go and she goes back to putting sandwiches together. "Get anything written?"

"Just concepts and ideas, I know where things are headed." It's not a lie, not really.

"Good." She smiles encouragingly and it helps.

He's immensely grateful that she's here, that he's not just wallowing in this house alone. His answering smile is genuine.

* * *

That night he's awakened by fingers skimming across his shoulders and lips against his spine, doesn't even try to suppress the "Mmmmm" that hums out of his throat. He rolls over in the dark, pins her to the mattress below him, plants his arms on either side of her head and dives his hands into her hair. He kisses her, full and deep, is spurred on by her answering moan. He breaks away from her mouth to taste the skin of her neck, laves his tongue over the smooth expanse. It amazes him again and he can't believe they're here, that they're really doing this.

"Kate," he breathes as he's making his way up to her ear.

She goes frighteningly still and it takes him a second to realize why that was wrong. He blinks his eyes open to his ex-wife glaring at him, the ambient light in the room illuminating her.

"Seriously, Rick?" She shoves at his shoulders and it's only then that he realizes he's still laying on her. He moves like she's on fire, swings his legs over the edge of the bed, rests his elbows on his knees and his face in his palms.

He doesn't bother saying anything, knows that there's nothing that can fix this. He listens to her gather her things, shoving them into her suitcase. She rolls the bag to the door and stops.

"I'll sleep in one of the guest rooms and leave in the morning." He hears the handle turn. "You know, I really thought we could make it work this time. I wish you wouldn't have wasted my time."

He still doesn't move. He has no idea what to say to her. Because he thought they could make it work too. But it will probably never work with anyone while he still has the ghost of Kate Beckett in his head.

Gina huffs a laugh and leaves, closing the door a little too forcefully. He hears a door down the hall open and then slam closed a moment later. He flops back on the bed, arms flung over his head, stares at the ceiling, listens to the surf out the window. And has no fucking idea what to do.

Distractions clearly don't work. What is he going to do now?

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._


	3. A Deadly Affair - Pt 1

_Summary: This is an alt-S3 story and explores how things would/could have gone differently if there were not significant others in the way. This will be told through a series of one-shots (or maybe two or three-shots depending on the episode) that will (most likely) not be related. (If they do relate to a previous chapter, that will be notated in the A/N at the beginning of the chapter.)_

* * *

**A Deadly Affair - Chapter 1**

* * *

It's all Ryan's fault. She'd been doing really well until he had to open his big mouth.

"Not true, I saw Castle do it last year."

It's stupid how two syllables can make her muscles seize, her heart pound, her breath stutter. It's just his name, it's not even the man himself and still he has this hold on her.

Kate thinks she recovers well enough but well-meaning Esposito has to saunter over to reassure her and then Ryan joins in and really, can't they see that they're just making it worse?

Thank god for a murder.

That he follows her to. Even if it is just a cutout. The universe is having a grand old time with Kate Beckett today, isn't it?

She is grateful for the distraction though. Grateful that she has something important to focus on. It's at the expense of Chloe Whitman's life but if this distraction from her disaster of a personal life can bring closure and justice to the woman's family and boyfriend, bring it on.

When they leave the crime scene to head over to the address that was clutched in their victim's hand, she averts her eyes from that damn cutout but somehow still feels like she's being stalked by cardboard. So when Kate sees him standing in Maya Santori's apartment, there's a split second where she thinks she's imagining it, that he can't really be here and it's her mind playing tricks on her.

Luckily, her cop instincts kick in and she doesn't even think about the fact that she was touching him, that she was close enough to smell his cologne until later when she's driving back to the precinct, blissfully alone. She had had a couple of uniforms take him back, anxious to get him away from her crime scene so she could focus.

She's informed that Montgomery is waiting for her in the observation room when she steps off the elevator, pausing at her desk a moment to drop off her coat and keys. And, yes, okay, to collect herself and take a deep breath. But that's all she needs, just a moment. She can do this. She can interrogate the man that she has an epic level crush on.

Except that no one can know about that part. No one apart from Lanie who coined the term over a bottle of wine one night. Kate tried to refute it at the time but the phrase stuck in her head and she has to admit that it's appropriate. Because how else do you explain daily – and hourly and minutely – thoughts about someone that you haven't seen in months? Thoughts about someone that left with someone else? Thoughts about someone that has been back in your zip code for at least a few weeks now but has made no attempt to contact you?

Damn it, Kate, get it together.

She grabs her trusty folder and the file that she had requested and strides purposefully into observation.

"What in the hell was he doing there?" Montgomery is perched on the edge of the table watching the writer squirm on the other side of the glass, asks his question without even glancing over at her.

"Don't know yet." She flips open the file, looks over the single sheet with nothing but her victim's DMV info on it. It will have to do for now, at least it's a positive ID.

"Did he know her? And where's he been anyway?" The captain is edgy, spits his questions out with no breath separating them.

Beckett raises her eye brows at him in silence and he turns to face her when she doesn't offer a reply immediately. "I was told once to never question at a crime scene but to gather the evidence and then hit them with the truth so they can't talk their way out of it."

The man has the good sense to look embarrassed as his advice is thrown in his face, simply nods in acceptance and turns back to face the glass.

No longer able to hide in the pretense of the file anymore, she takes a seat next to her captain and gets her first real view of the face that's been playing in her head all summer.

The real thing is so much better.

He looks good, golden skin, touchable hair, that purple shirt just the right color on him. She's glad that she's sitting because she can't deny that this unimpeded glimpse of him has made her knees a little watery.

But it's fine, she can do this. She'll just look past him, hit him with questions until he breaks, avoid the alluring pull of those blue eyes. Blue like the depth of the ocean, like the seductive call of the mermaids to sailors, so inviting that a watery death was welcome when surrounded by such beauty.

"What's your plan?" Roy asks. His voice make her startle, lost in her own thoughts as she was. His eyes take on a tinge of concern. "Kate, you don't have to do this. I'm sure Ryan and Esposito would love to put him through the paces."

Oh hell no, she is not going to let this passing infatuation get in the way of her job. Because it will pass and she will not allow it to even put a bump in her path.

"No sir, I can do this." She stands on steady legs. "Tell the boys to let me know when ballistics comes in, will you?" she asks as she makes her way to the door.

"Sure will. Give him hell, Beckett," he calls after her as she shuts the door behind her.

She plans to.

She doesn't give herself a moment between the doors, moves decisively from one to the other, momentum guiding her steps.

He's saying something as she comes in but she ignores him, starts with a customary, "You've been informed of your rights, Mr. Castle?"

"Really? You're not even going to ask me how my summer was?"

Right, because she wants to know all the details of the time he spent with Gina**. **At least he's making it easy for her to keep up the bad cop routine.

"You are aware that you're under arrest for murder?"

"And I thought you were being rough with the cuffs just for fun." She flicks her eyes up to him with every intention of glaring but stops at the soft look in his eyes and the warm smile on his face. "You look good."

His words curl around her, a comfort to the ache of missing him. The smile curls her lips without her permission. Damn it.

No, wait, she can work with this.

"You look good, too." It's not a lie but she forces the smile off her face. "For murder." Now he thinks it is.

"Why are you so mad at me?" he asks, genuine confusion in his tone.

Because I waited too long. Because your ex-wife has impeccable timing. Because what I thought was two-sided was apparently just me. Because it's Fall and you haven't called.

"Maybe because you were found standing over a dead body with a gun in your hand," she says instead.

"Yeah, but I told you she was dead when I got there."

"Why didn't you call?" She surprises herself with the question. She did mean about the victim but she can't help the hurt that laces the words.

He hesitates. "I was going to call to call you." He sounds like he's supplicating. And not only for today. Though that might be her imagination. "But then you showed up before I could." Yeah, he's talking about today. It's not all about you, Beckett.

"What were you even doing there?" It's not the most professional question she's ever asked in this room but she can't treat this like every other conversation that's happened in here.

"Because she called me."

He is unbelievable. "Oh, so you and Miss Santori were in a relationship." She's angry now. She can work with angry.

"Well, I wouldn't say it was a relationship. I bought a couple sculptures from her," he sputters his answer but she's barely listening.

"Were you sleeping with her?" she spits out.

He flinches back like she's hit him. "How is that relevant?" He even has the audacity to sound offended.

"Motive." Seriously Castle, keep up, shouldn't you know this?

"Ah. No. I wasn't sleeping with her."

Yeah right. "Are you sure? Beautiful woman..."

He leans forward in his seat, cuts her off. "I wasn't sleeping with her." He says every word with a deliberate heaviness.

Oh, of course. "Because you're in a relationship."

"Uh, no." He sits back again, almost slumped in the chair, laces his hands together in his lap.

He…what? "You're not?" She blurts it out before she can stop herself, before she can censor out the surprise.

"It's not really a shock that it didn't work out with my ex-wife, is it?" He laughs, a mirthless huff of air through his nose.

She has no idea what to say. Because she's spent all this time thinking that he was in a relationship and now…

"Castle, I'm sorry." She means it, too. Because while she wishes that it had been her with him in the Hamptons, she just wanted him to be happy. As cheesy as that sounds, it's true. But now she's curious. "When?"

He raises his eyes up to hers, tilts his head like he's contemplating something but then shrugs. "Does it matter?"

She shrugs in return, just a rise and drop of her shoulders, so far off this interrogation that it's not even funny. She supposes that it doesn't matter but if she spent the whole summer torturing herself with images of him and Gina and they weren't even together, she might just lose it.

"How about you? You still with that, uh, cop boyfriend of yours? What was his name again? Demming?" He's sardonic, obvious in his attempted recollection of the robbery detective's name.

She takes a breath, drops her eyes. She reaches for the file with Chloe Whitman's information in it but knows that she won't show it to him. This is Castle, she knows him and she knows that he didn't do this.

She must be quiet a moment too long because he asks, "You broke up?" She lets her eyes flick up to him, conveying her answer in the look. "When?" he echoes her earlier question.

So she echoes his reply and says "Does it matter?" with a shrug.

He keeps eye contact a little longer before answering, "No, I guess not."

She drops her eyes back to her folder, tries to get the thread of the interrogation back. Because he's still a witness at the very least and she has two murders that need solving.

But all she can think is, here they are, finally in the same room, both available, nothing but a table and a gulf of hurt feelings and confused emotions between them.

He opens his mouth, seems poised to say something when the door opens and Montgomery leans his upper body into the room.

"Beckett, a word?"

She jumps up from the table, eager to get away from the stale, uncomfortable air in the room.

"Hey Captain. How's it going?" Castle drawls, light and affable.

Kate has to bite back a laugh at the look on the captain's face, his hard-set features and blank eyes clearly broadcasting his current disdain for the writer.

"What? You, too? Really? Come on, guys!" Castle exclaims as she exits the room and the door is closed behind her.

* * *

When the ballistics don't match up just like she suspected they wouldn't, she asks the boys to take the rest of Castle's statement, knows that his association with the victim might yield some useable intel.

They agree to the task a little too eagerly and she narrows her eyes at them as they jump up from their desks.

"Don't worry, Beckett, we'll go easy on him," Esposito says. He's probably trying to sound reassuring but the trouble-making grin on his face doesn't put her at ease.

"Just be quick, we need to know what he knows."

"On it, boss," Ryan tosses over his shoulder as they head towards the room.

She shakes her head at their retreating backs before getting a dry erase marker from her desk and setting upon the task of fixing the board. She moves Castle's picture from the "Suspects" heading to a blank spot under Maya Santori's information, adds a "P.O.I." heading instead. She jots down a few things but leaves plenty of room to add more from the rest of his statement. Content with that, she sits at her desk, reviews the ballistics report that Montgomery had filled her in on, tucks it into growing folder of information.

Unable to sit still, she snatches the now cold cup of coffee off her desk and strides into the break room, dumps the contents from the morning down the drain. She bypasses the espresso machine and reaches for the brown sludge that sits on the hotplate but before her fingers can curl around the handle, she makes a decision and reaches for the handle of the brew basket on the fancy machine instead. She's not used it all summer out of spite for the man that purchased it but it's that same spite that suddenly has her grinding beans and tamping them down. He's apparently been just fine without her and she made it through the whole summer without him. No reason she should deny herself good coffee because of some misplaced anger, right?

She's in the middle of steaming a pitcher of milk when she catches movement in her peripheral vision. Her eyes flick over to catch Castle casually leaning against the door frame, blazer draped over his arm, a small smile gracing his lips. With not a small amount of effort, she brings her eyes back to the task at hand, takes a long, slow breath in through her nose in an attempt to ease the sudden tightness in her chest. When she twists the knob to shut off the steam wand, the silence somehow seems louder.

"Glad to see you're still using it," his voice cuts in, pitched low in a way that feels too intimate for her place of employment.

She purposefully uses a businesslike tone, throws back, "Done already?" as she pours the milk over the espresso in the mug.

She hears him sigh softly and then the doorframe creaks as he pushes off of it. She puts the pitcher away, cleans the espresso machine the way they were all taught by the barista that Castle brought in after he bought the machine. She puts down the towel, picks up her mug and turns to lean back against the counter. He's taken a few more steps into the room but is still keeping his distance.

She takes a sip of her coffee because she has no damn idea what to say to him.

"It's good to see you," he starts hesitantly.

"Been back in the city long?" It could sound like she's trying to change the subject but she can tell that he knows what she's really saying by the way that his shoulders drop in defeat.

"Your attack dogs already put me through the ringer, could we just not?"

She glances through the blinds to see Ryan and Esposito's heads snapping back to files and computer screens, nowhere near as subtle as they wish they were. "I'm sorry, I should have known better than to expect them to act professional."

"Well, they were right and I'm sorry. I should have called or come by or something. I just," he hesitates, drops his eyes, and shuffles back and forth on his feet. "I just didn't want to disrupt your life."

He's so earnest and sincere and unbelievably adorable right now that it's easy to throw back, "That's never stopped you before," a smirk twisting her lips.

His eyes snap back up to her, wide with surprise for a moment before he relaxes, eases back on his heels. "Got a new phone and lost Bob's number, haven't been able to talk to him to get permission to follow you again."

She doesn't fight the roll of her eyes and the shake of her head. This feels real, natural. This feels like them. He's smiling at her, face radiating joy, eyes crinkled up in happiness. Hope blooms in her heart; hope that they can still be something, even if it's just friends.

"I'm sorry that things with Demming didn't work out."

She shrugs. "Thanks but it's fine. I'm over it." She pauses a moment before offering, "I'm sorry about Gina?" her voice rising to a ridiculously high pitch at the end of the sentence. From his earlier reaction she doubts that he's broken up over it so she's not even sure that the condolence is necessary.

He laughs then, just a single bark escaping his chest. "Don't be. I don't know what I was doing thinking that it would work."

"Never know unless you try, right?"

He sobers at that, his face taking on a more serious expression. He shifts towards her, takes one step, then another. Her hands tighten around the mug, her breaths shallow. He's close enough that she could reach out and wrap a hand around his arm.

"Look, Beckett-"

"Beckett, we just got ballistics back from the two victims, thought you'd wanna see it," Ryan's voice cuts in.

The moment shatters around them, crashes to the ground, words unsaid tinkling against the wood floor. Castle takes his hard earned steps back, the distance palpable now.

"Thanks," she says through gritted teeth, "be there in a minute." Ryan hovers at the door but she shoots him a pointed glare and he takes the hint to beat it. She sucks in a breath, exhales disappointment. "I gotta get back to work."

"I don't suppose I could stay?" He looks prepared for the worst.

She almost gives in right then. But she's not sure that she can handle having him this close to her again. Not yet. "Castle, I'm sorry about your friend, but we've been doing fine without you, we can handle it." It's not untrue; they closed plenty of cases over the summer while he was gone. "You should just go home."

He opens his mouth like he's about to argue with but then presses his lips back together and nods. "Okay." He's agreeing almost too easily. But she's glad that this hasn't escalated into a fight so she allows his easy acceptance. He slides his arms back into his blazer and moves to leave the room.

She expects that he'll just brush past her and leave, calling out a goodbye on the way. She braces herself for the whiff of cologne, the image of his retreating back. She should know better than to expect the ordinary from him.

He's suddenly there, in her space, his hands on her hips, his face dangerously close to hers. She's frozen and pliant and shocked and angry and a lot aroused at his sudden proximity. He plucks the mug from where her limp fingers are still holding it against her chest and places it on the counter top. She's afraid to touch him, afraid that she wouldn't stop if she started, so she just laces her fingers together between her breasts. He leans forward and her eyes drop to his lips as they make their way towards hers. She thinks she should stop him, thinks this is probably not the best place for this but she can't form a logical argument against it in her brain and he's getting closer, her eyelids flutter shut of their own accord-

And then she feels his lips brushing over her cheek and he's stepping back before she even has her eyes open again. She already misses his warmth, his scent, the heat of his palms through her slacks.

"I'll be in touch." His voice is low and more than a little rough, the raw edges of his words rubbing against the parts of her heart that she tried to shutter over the summer. "Promise," he adds before turning and walking away.

She thinks that she tries to say goodbye, tries to call out some kind of farewell, but no sound leaves her throat and she's not certain that she's moved at all.

It's a long minute before she can take a deep breath, will her muscles to move, unstick her feet. When she makes back out to the bullpen, the boys are smirking at her, twin annoying looks that she wants to smack off their faces. Of course they were spying.

"What do we got?" she asks, proud of how solid her voice is, her crisp tone putting the guys back into work mode.

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._

_A/N: This episode got away from me. Chapter 2 will be up in the next few days._


	4. A Deadly Affair - Pt 2

_Summary: This is an alt-S3 story and explores how things would/could have gone differently if there were not significant others in the way. This will be told through a series of one-shots (or maybe two or three-shots depending on the episode) that will (most likely) not be related. (If they do relate to a previous chapter, that will be notated in the A/N at the beginning of the chapter.)_

* * *

**A Deadly Affair - Chapter 2**

* * *

She has to admit that she isn't surprised to find him in Todd McHutchin's apartment. Somewhere along the way, she'd gotten used to him being everywhere all the time. It's mostly what made the summer so weird, there was never his voice spinning a theory, never his solid presence next to her in the cruiser.

So, no, she's not surprised that he's in this dead man's apartment. A little angry that he somehow beat them to it. And a little bit more angry that he didn't just go home like he had so readily agreed to. But not surprised.

"I can explain," he offers weakly.

"Yeah, you better start. Didn't you agree to go home?" She advances on him and almost laughs as he backs up to avoid her wrath.

"I was just trying to help."

"I told you I don't need your help. How did you get here anyway?" She could tell him that he's about to run into the refrigerator but where's the fun in that?

"I was following up a lead, same as you." His eyes take on a little more panic as he realizes that he's trapped in the apartment's tiny kitchen.

"Oh, really? So you subpoenaed the victim's phone records and looked for commonalities?" Actually, she wouldn't put it past him.

"No, not exactly," he hedges.

"Then what?" she barks at him, at the end of her patience with this game he's playing.

He must see that she's not in the mood to deal with this and tells her, "I star-69'd on Maya's phone. I figured it would give me her last call. Rang up McHutchin here, I got his name from his voicemail, and then I did a web search."

She's impressed for a second but then realizes, "You went to an active crime scene without authorization?"

"I wore gloves." He winces, eyes squinted shut comically.

She lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, hopes to relieve some of the headache that's forming. "I'm not gonna get rid of you am I?"

"Hopefully not." He mutters it so soft she almost misses it. She's not sure if he didn't mean to say it or if it was only meant for her. He raises his voice and continues, "Do you know what these bodies are? A sign from the universe telling us we need to solve this case together. You don't want to let the universe down, do you?"

He's so proud of himself, smug in a way that's completely charming on him. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to hold back a smile but is positive that she's failing spectacularly.

"Okay, fine. I will let you join me, on this one case, as long as you promise to do what I say when I say it, and not to do any investigating on your own."

"I promise. And I kept the last one already, didn't I?" He's smug in a non-charming way now.

She shoots him a withering glare. "This doesn't count as 'keeping in touch.'"

He nods. "Noted."

* * *

Kate gets in even earlier than normal the next morning. She knows that Castle knows her routine and is afraid that he'll be there waiting if she comes in at her customary time. But he's a perfect gentleman, shows up at his customary 9 AM which is just ungodly late by her standards but at least he wasn't around to distract her. It gave her time to collate the evidence that CSU logged at McHutchin's apartment and find the man's fiancée. It also gave her time to think. And worry.

She's doing just that when he pops around the corner, so deep in her own mind that she failed to hear the ding of the elevator, her hands moving quickly so as to look occupied. She doesn't notice the tray in his hand so the paper cup that appears in front of her is a surprise, a simple object by all accounts but one that she has painfully missed. The sight of it makes a smile bloom across her face and she doesn't try to hide it, tips her face up to Castle in thanks.

He freezes in place, his eyes filled with awe and firmly fixed on her. There are two desks between them and a room full of people around them but the moment feels intimate, has her wishing that she could nuzzle her nose against his, kiss him softly after she's had a sip of the coffee so he can taste it on her.

Someone drops something, the loud, metallic clatter breaking the spell. Castle clears his throat and takes a seat, pointedly fixes his eyes on the murder board, scans across the information to bring himself up to speed.

She picks up the cup and takes a swig of its contents. It's the best coffee she's had in four months.

* * *

It surprises her but also doesn't surprise her how comfortably they fall into their old routine, sometimes it almost feels like there wasn't a break at all. She had gotten used to doing interviews and interrogations alone so his voice cutting in sounds out of place at first but they interview McHutchin's fiancée, his loan shark and it ends up just like it always was.

They seem to be at a standstill after the shark alibies out but Castle makes a good point about where the money suddenly appeared from and she practically skips into the conference room to dive through the financial records.

When they find the connection through the large deposits and the charges to KCBC, that charming version of the smug look he had the day before returns. She smiles at how proud he is but ducks her head as she straightens up the papers she's been riffling through, attempts to hide it behind the curtain of her hair. She can't turn it off though, she's just so glad that he's here. She's still smiling when she raises her head and finds him regarding her quietly, his head cocked to the side.

"What?" he asks simply and it makes her smile wider. He could pressure her or profile her but he's not, he's asking, letting her tell him on her own terms.

And it's because he goes about it this way that she finds the truth spilling from her lips. "I missed you."

His smile matches her for luminescence. "I missed you, too."

* * *

She can't stop watching him as they're walking through the club. She's been to a few burlesque shows and she's rather amazed that it appears he hasn't if his level of fascination is any indication. This seems like the kind of place he would be at every night.

She sneaks a glance over at him, finds him still entranced with the woman on the main stage. Kate has to admit that her movement is pretty great but she's not taking enough time in the reveal. Burlesque is all about the tease and this woman is just handing it out.

"This place is like the circus with alcohol, how have I never been here before?" he exclaims.

She could tease him about all the other clubs she's been to because of her job but she can't help but wonder, "How is it possible that I know about burlesque and you don't?"

He turns to her with wide, excited eyes. "You've been holding out on me?"

She breathes out a laugh, "Well, we do know how to get in here now. Maybe we could come back when it's not in a professional capacity, actually spend some time watching the acts."

His eyes widen even more and take on the addition of shock at her words. She thinks over what she said and it occurs to her that she might have just suggested a date. She shrugs, shoots him a look that could be interpreted as a challenge and strides off towards the bar.

He doesn't say anything else but the careful distance he had been keeping between them most of the day is now gone, he's right behind her as she walks, even presses up against her as she talks to the bartender. She could shove him off, make him back up but why would she when he has his chest pressed to her back, a hand ghosting at her waist?

He puts that distance between them again as they talk to Kitty and Earl, keeps his hands to himself in the car on the way back to the precinct. She's not sure why he does it but she's grateful for it, his proximity was far too distracting.

She glances over at him as she drives, takes in the way he's actively not looking in her direction, his shoulders that are shifted towards the window, his hands tucked close to the door. Wait, is that proximity just as distracting for him? She thinks back to yesterday and is flooded with heat at the memory of hands on her hips, his lips so close yet so far from where she wanted them. He was making the move to kiss her, she's sure of it. What made him change his mind at the last second?

There's no further time to ponder that issue as they arrive back at the precinct and she's distracted in a productive way with trying to figure out the connection between their victims and Evan Murphy's motivation for killing them.

This case is pissing her off now. There's enough evidence to believe that the murders are related but that one piece that ties them all together remains elusive.

"It's like a bad joke – a sculptor, a vending machine salesman, and a chemistry teacher walk into a burlesque bar," she mutters.

"Yeah, only we don't have a punchline," Castle not-so-helpfully points out.

"Other than they made a lot of money and got themselves killed."

It's clear that her statement made something click in his head but she's embarrassed to admit that she doesn't follow. "Made a bunch of money," he breathes almost to himself.

"What?"

"A sculptor who works with metal, a chemist, and a vending machine operator. I think I know what our victims were up to. Do we still have Chloe's purse?"

He doesn't wait for her answer and scurries off to Evidence. It isn't until then that she gets it. And she's pretty sure she can never admit to him that he figured this out before she did. It's all his fault that she's not on the top of her game. All his fault that he's being just as distracting as he is helpful. He comes back with Chloe's wallet and confirms their suspicions and they start putting it all in line. Together.

She doesn't notice that that they're closing the distance between each other as they speak until they come to the same conclusion and turn to exclaim, "I know who the killer is!"

He's so close that she can feel the warmth of his breath across her face, is immediately lost in the cobalt of his eyes. It would be so easy to reach up and capture his face in her hands, drag him to her in a celebratory kiss. Her eyes flick to his mouth and her body cants towards his, a magnetic attraction that can't be helped. She spent the entire summer thinking about just this, spent so much time missing him at moments like this, missing that gleam in his eye when they fit that last missing piece into place. It's like this morning all over again but this time, there's nothing separating them.

Nothing but a summer filled with yearning and hurt.

She shifts back, clears her throat, goes back to work. And tries to ignore the disappointment in his eyes.

* * *

They laugh about it after, how they both thought one had a gun trained on the other only to learn that they were both protecting the other. Montgomery doesn't find it as amusing, probably because of the paperwork he'll have to file about a civilian firing an N.Y.P.D. issued weapon. When her captain walks away, the air turns uncomfortable between them.

"Well," Castle starts, "you said one case, so, I guess this is it."

Her heart constricts. That's not what she wants at all. "Castle, I meant what I said earlier, I missed you. It was nice to have you back."

He regards her critically, an intense look on his face that makes her want to shield her face from him. Because she knows that he'll see it all if he tries to find it. Her secret desires in her heart of hearts. His face softens, eyes not as severe but he takes a step closer to her. "Kate." Her name is a wisp on his tongue but slices right through her. "Do we need to talk?"

It startles her that he says it that way. That he's not demanding that they speak, that he's giving her a chance to actually answer. That he's been doing this to her all day, giving her opportunities to come clean. Like he can see that she needs to.

What she wanted at the beginning of the summer is still true, an open heart and a full life. She thinks she could have both with him. If she lets herself.

So she does. "Yeah, I think we do."

* * *

They're quiet the whole ride to her apartment. She thinks this is the least that she's ever heard him speak since she met him. They shed jackets and shoes inside the door and she heads into the kitchen to pull out a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, motions him towards the sofa. When they're settled on the cushions, glasses in hand, the silence becomes palpable. She takes a sip of her wine, tries to put her riotous thoughts into some kind of order.

"Can I ask a question?" Her head snaps up at his voice.

"Sure."

"When I left for the Hamptons at the beginning of the summer, you had wanted to talk to me in private and it seemed like you started to say something when Gina showed up." Oh no, oh he's not going to go straight for this, is he? "I don't think you brought me out in the hall to say 'have a great summer,' so what was it really?"

She wanted to build up to this, didn't want to go for it first off. But she wants to be open. And being open means being honest. She takes a healthy sip of her wine, inhales deeply before speaking.

"You asked me yesterday when I broke up with Tom. The answer to that is about five minutes before I came into the conference room and asked to talk to you." Her head swims, blood rushes in her ears as she says it, as she confesses to him what she thought he might never find out. He's not stupid and he's looking at her in shocked wonder so she thinks he's pieced the rest together but his trade is in words so she gives them to him. "I was going to accept your offer to come to the Hamptons for Memorial Day."

She closes her eyes and swallows hard, fear trying to strangle her and shove the words back down. But it's too late. They're out there.

He inhales sharply, suddenly as if he had been holding his breath and just remembered to fill his lungs. She opens her eyes, watches him slowly release the breath, inhale again.

"So, my turn then?" he asks and she nods for him to continue. "Gina was only in the Hamptons for four days."

She feels the blood drain from her face as the one thing that she was hoping didn't happen was just confirmed.

They spent the summer apart alone.

"What happened?" she rasps from her dry throat, the need to know burning under her skin.

He shifts, sits back, uncrosses his legs, crosses them again the other way. "I guess I just talked about you too much. She got sick of it and left."

No, that's not what happened.

"Castle, you're the one that taught me how to spot this particular type of lie. I know there's some truth in there but what really happened?"

"Kate," he leans forward as he says her name, sets his wine glass on the coffee table, "if I tell you this, there's no coming back from it. It'll all be out there. Are you ready for that?"

"Are you?" she shoots back, wonders if he's projecting.

He turns his eyes up to hers and the seriousness in them stills the air in her lungs. "Yeah, I am."

She places her wine glass next to his. "So am I. No more talking around this, Castle. I want us to be able to be open and honest with each other, no matter where that takes us." It scares her to use a word like "us" because she's still not sure that he really wants that.

"Okay. I couldn't get you out of my head, even in sleep. She woke me up in the middle of the night once for…" he waves his hand in lieu of just saying that his companion wanted consensual sex. The corner of her mouth quirks up at how adorable the action is. "Anyway, I, uh, didn't say her name." He stops there and she knows exactly what he's not saying but just like she said the obvious part, he continues, "I said yours. She left right away."

He wasn't kidding. There's no coming back from that admission. Hers was big but this is huge, it leaves no room for misunderstanding. This puts a lot of things into perspective but it confuses one other.

"Can I ask you a question now?"

He doesn't look at her, not completely. He glances in her direction but avoids her eyes. "Sure."

"You were about to kiss me yesterday. Why didn't you?"

He shrugs, raises a hand to rub the back of his neck. "I realized that while I knew that I wanted to, I didn't know if you did. So I didn't force it."

"We both know I could have kicked your ass if I didn't want you to."

He finally makes eye contact and she can see the amusement twinkling in his irises. "I can't say that you seemed to want to cause me harm. At that particular moment anyway," he adds hastily.

She smirks at him, raises an eyebrow to punctuate the point. His eyes darken at the move, lust clouding over.

"One final question." Her voice is lower than she intended, an attractive husk to the words. He nods at her to continue but before she does, she slides down the sofa towards him, reaches out to place her hand on his knee. She sees his breath catch when she touches him, his hand snaking out to seek purchase on her hip. His eagerness to touch her as well encourages her motions, has her press in even closer, raise a hand to lie along his jaw like she had wanted to do earlier today.

"Why aren't you kissing me right-"

She doesn't even get the whole sentence out before his mouth claims hers roughly, quickly changing to be softer, gentler. He kisses her like he might never get the chance again, like he has to imprint the shape of her mouth to his memory.

But, oh, this is only the first of many.

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._

_A/N: Reminder that this will be a series of one-shots and that are not related and, sadly, not all of them will end with kissing. Some might end with less, some with more. I'm trying to challenge myself to mix it up a bit. I hope you're willing to stay with me as I explore a range of scenarios._

___Thank you to Jennifer for helping me to clean up this episode and for assuring me that it wasn't too long. Even though I still think it might be._


	5. Under the Gun

_Summary: This is an alt-S3 story and explores how things would/could have gone differently if there were not significant others in the way. This will be told through a series of one-shots (or maybe two or three-shots depending on the episode) that will (most likely) not be related. (If they do relate to a previous chapter, that will be notated in the A/N at the beginning of the chapter.)_

* * *

**Under the Gun**

* * *

Things have been weird between them.

Weird is an insufficient word for the situation but saying that things are aberrant sounds pretentious, queer doesn't quite fit, peculiar sounds too strange, strange is just as insufficient as weird. But weird fits.

Because they are. Weird.

Kate let him rejoin the team even after he gave her an out at the end of that bet but she insisted, even seemed upset that he would suggest that she wouldn't want him there. He would have been upset if she didn't want him there but he would have accepted it. Begrudgingly accepted it. To be honest, he's pretty surprised that he solved that case first but he hasn't spent any time trying to figure out how it happened. Because it got him back in her company.

Things aren't always weird. She smiles at him when he hands over cups of coffee. They talk and laugh and joke, build theory like they always have, banter like there wasn't a four month break in their partnership.

But sometimes, things get weird. He makes a comment about something he did over the summer and she goes quiet. The attraction that's always been there between them gets a little more charged than normal due to an accidental brush of hands (he swears he doesn't position his hands on the coffee mugs in such a way that she has to touch him) and she takes a step back. She's never been overly talkative but she always seemed to have a comeback or a well-timed barb for him. She always used to anyway. Now when he says something that he knows would have drawn a sarcastic chuckle and a "You wish, Castle" from her, he gets silence.

So, yeah, the word he's going with is weird.

He would spend some time trying to figure it out, try different topics and phrases to see what seems to set off the weirdness. But he doesn't have time for that. Not when Mike Royce is around with stories of Officer Beckett, visual aids included.

It's fun at first, getting to hear about this other side of her, hearing about the hijinks she got into before she found the folder with her mother's case, before she started drowning herself in the misery of the mystery.

He tries to tamp down the jealousy he feels at the way she looks at him, tries to not be angry at the man for a simple offer of lunch. It's an offer that he's made himself many times so why does he feel like it's out of bounds for Royce to make it?

All of Castle's jealously towards the former cop evaporates when he turns out to be a lying liar. Now he's just disappointed. And perplexed. Because how could you do that to Kate Beckett of all people?

* * *

"All that was just an act? To get a trace?"

"Of course," she replies, her voice light.

But he sees the hurt and betrayal in her eyes, knows that she's forcing her mouth to curve upward before she walks away. She tries to turn her head as she rounds the corner but he catches a glimpse of her profile just as her face crumples. Her shoulders are tense, her steps measured like she wants to run but is forcing herself to just put one foot in front of the other.

The bathroom door hasn't even swung closed in her wake when he decides that he doesn't want her to be alone. He's sure that she's going to disagree with him on that point but the thought of her crying alone in the bathroom is unacceptable.

He pushes the door open carefully and slips inside, keeps hold of the handle to make sure it doesn't slam closed. Not that he thinks she doesn't realize that someone else has come in but –

"Castle, go away," she calls from one of the stalls.

Of course she heard and even knows it's him. Of course she does.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

"I can't even go the bathroom without you following me?"

Oh. He just assumed that she was hiding; he didn't think that she was actually, uh, answering nature's call.

"Sorry," he mutters, turning to leave.

That's when he hears her take a sniffling breath. She probably thought that his movements would cover up the sound but he's being deliberately slow and is quieter than normal. So he hears her.

"Beckett, you're crying," he says matter of factly, leaving her no room to refute him. "Come out here."

"No." The word comes out thick and is followed by another wet sniff of her nose.

At least she's not hiding it anymore.

He takes a few steps into the bathroom, crouches down to see which of the stalls she's in and finds her sitting on the floor in the larger, handicapped stall, back against the wall, knees hugged to her chest.

"I'll crawl under the door." He means it.

She sighs exasperatedly, pushes to her feet and opens the stall door. She's glaring at him but it loses some of the effect coming out of her red-rimmed eyes shining with the remnants of tears.

He has an overwhelming urge to reach out and swipe a thumb under her eye, gather her up in his arms. But he doesn't have that right. Not when she's still shutting him down verbally. No, he can't touch her.

She storms over to the sink and runs cold water through her hands before pressing her still dripping fingers to her face. She sighs, drops her chin towards her chest. He reaches past her and turns off the water then behind her for a handful of paper towels. He holds them out to her but she still has her face buried in her hands, doesn't even acknowledge his offer.

Oh, to hell with the unspoken no touching rule.

He reaches out and wraps his fingers around one of her wrists, tugging gently to get her to remove her hand. He's surprised when she lowers it willingly, even more so when she drops the other hand as well but isn't surprised that her eyes are still downcast. He presses a paper towel into her palm and she starts wiping off her hands despite the droplets running down her face.

She freezes when he touches a towel to her forehead, runs it down her temple, across her cheek. She closes her eyes and releases a breath, which he takes as permission to continue. He swipes the towel over her jaw, dabs it under her chin to soak up the water gathered there, puts a little pressure on his fingers to lift her face to his.

Her eyelids startle open at that movement, their eyes immediately connecting. He lets the paper towel tumble from his fingers, replaces its touch with his own hand; her skin warm and soft under his fingertips. She turns toward him, hovers her hands at his waist and he shuffles closer, raises his other hand to caress her bicep. The air sparks and crackles around them, time slows to focus on this moment, this glorious moment that he could live in forever.

He rubs a thumb over her lower lip, his eyes tracking the movement that he's about to make with his mouth. He leans forward, feels her hovering hands finally settle on him but then those hands are pushing him away.

"No, Castle."

"What?" he breathes the word, not understanding.

She pushes him further from her, slips away from his touch, moving to lean her back against the wall. His hands stay suspended for a moment before it registers that there's no warmth under his fingers. He deflates, arms dropping heavily to his sides, spine bowing under the weight of shame.

"I'm sorry, Kate, I overstepped."

"No," she says quietly, shaking her head. "You didn't."

"I didn't?" He's even more confused now.

She takes an audible breath in through her mouth, like she's trying to gulp in air. "It's just a bad time, Castle."

He suddenly remembers why they're in this bathroom in the first place, embarrassed that he forgot.

"Right. I am sorry."

"Don't be. Honestly."

She's insistent on this particular point. He feels like he made a mistake but she keeps saying that he didn't. Which is confusing because things have been weird.

She looks at him a moment longer, a tender glow in her eyes, then pushes off the wall, runs a hand through her hair. "Let's go back to work." She turns and walks towards the door, not looking back, clearly expecting him to follow.

He does. He wouldn't not.

Because she said it's a bad time. And that means that someday, hopefully someday soon, the timing will be good and the weirdness will dissipate. He plans to be around when that happens.

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._


	6. Punked

_Summary: This is an alt-S3 story and explores how things would/could have gone differently if there were not significant others in the way. This will be told through a series of one-shots (or maybe two or three-shots depending on the episode) that will (most likely) not be related. (If they do relate to a previous chapter, that will be notated in the A/N at the beginning of the chapter.)_

_Thanks to Jennifer for helping me figure out what this chapter was about._

* * *

**Punked**

* * *

Kate can't deny the awkwardness between them. She knows it's her fault, too. She just doesn't know what to do or to say. She was a hairsbreadth from accepting his invitation to the Hamptons and then…

Yeah.

She's not angry about it though, Castle didn't do it on purpose. Everything she was doing indicated to him that he shouldn't have expected her to suddenly agree to come along. But it's made her gun shy and even though things didn't work out between him and Gina (seriously, what was he thinking?), she's in no hurry to spill her guts about what could have been.

But sometimes, when he says something funny, she just wants to grin at him or when he hands her a cup of coffee, she wants to take an extra second to trail her fingertips over his arm in thanks. But she does none of those things. She does nothing, because she doesn't know what to do instead. And so things have been awkward.

It's getting harder to hide it all though because this case is bringing out everything that she's come to like about him. She rolls her eyes when he suggests time traveling killer but there's affection in the action because of how exited he is about the possibility. He pouts at her for an hour because she sends the boys to check out Goldstein's DeLorean and she can't quite suppress the low chuckle at how adorable he is. She looks at him in some kind of wonder when he figures out the duel.

Walking into the Gaslamp League with him is a revelation. She's swept up into the world of Steampunk, listens to him in rapt attention as he describes the allure of the lifestyle, the seemingly dichotomous aspects of romance and futuristic design coming together into something coherent.

It reminds her of him. The playboy and the kind-hearted man. The boyish scoundrel and the father. One side of him shouldn't fit into the other and yet they stitch together seamlessly into something beautifully unique.

* * *

It's something that her father told her when she was a teenager. Her parents were dancing around the living room to Sinatra one evening and she asked him when he first knew that he was in love with her mother.

"When all the songs made sense, Katie," he answered as the crooner implored "lovely, never, ever change, keep that breathless charm." He said the words so simply, almost offhandedly and Kate's sure that he's forgotten all about it. But she never did.

When she shows up at Castle's loft, the last thing she expects is for him to be in full Steampunk regalia. She can't help the trip of her eyes down and back up his body, admires how the leather hugs his chest, the way the brass of the fittings sets off the blue of his eyes. Her fingers itch to feel the suppleness of that vest, the way the heat of his skin would soak through to her hands.

"Beckett." Her name from his lips has her eyes flying back up to his face, afraid she's been caught. But he's clearly distracted, his eyes unfocused. "How do you know when you're in love?"

The answer comes to her as easy as breathing and she finds herself saying her father's words without thinking about it. "All the songs make sense."

His eyes do focus on hers then, flicking over to lock gazes. His eyes are somehow wide and also narrowed at her, shock and confusion jockeying for position. Oh. She didn't mean-

She brushes past him into his home, mostly to get away from his prying eyes, tries to grasp the reason that she came over in the first place. He's shaking it off when she turns around, literally moving his head side to side and rolling his shoulders under that leather vest in a way that is completely distracting as he closes the door and turns to face her.

He walks towards her, takes off the ridiculous hat that somehow managed to look incredible on him and opens his mouth to say something.

"Adam Murphy didn't kill Goldstein," she blurts out as she suddenly remembers.

His movements stutter, he hesitates before taking another step. "But he confessed."

She glances up to the steady eyes of her partner's looking back. She releases a breath she didn't realize that she was holding, so grateful that he doesn't push, that he just snaps into work mode right along with her.

Playful and serious. Her two favorite sides of him.

* * *

They're gathering their coats after booking Troy Kenworth and getting Montgomery up to speed (and after Esposito has a little too much fun with his injury) when Castle takes a deep breath, seems to be gathering his courage.

"What are you doing tonight?" he asks, his voice pitched low.

She turns to face him and finds him looking at her expectantly, a beautiful smile curving his mouth.

"Why Castle, you asking me out?" She smirks at him, resorting to their often used sarcasm.

"Yeah," he answers simply, not a trace of sarcasm in his tone, his smile taking on a bit of shyness as well. Richard Castle, nervous to ask a girl out, she never thought she'd see the day.

The air rushes out of her lungs, her mouth suddenly dry. She's that girl, he's actually asking her out.

He waits on her, just stands there patiently until she can get her bearings back. She feels the smile coming but doesn't try to seize her muscles to quell it, she lets it take hold, spread across her face, crinkle around her eyes.

"Castle, I-"

"Becks!"

Kate turns as Madison rounds the corner, the blonde pulling her into an effervescent hug.

"Maddie, what are you doing here?" she asks as they break apart.

"I got your text," her friend replies like that should answer everything.

"The one where I told you I was running late and would meet you there?"

"It was on my way, I figured we could just head over together." She shrugs at Kate before shifting her attention. "Rick," she draws his name out, a teasing note in her voice. "Nice to see you again." She lays a hand on his shoulder, leans in to place a chaste kiss to his cheek.

"Nice to see you, too, Maddie," he replies. "What brings you here?"

"Becks and I have a date," she answers.

"O-Oh." He sounds disappointed, drops his eyes, even takes a step back.

"A girls night out date," Kate clarifies, sure that he's imagining them on a double date with a couple of college aged guys.

"Oh!" He perks up at that and Kate can't help but shake her head and laugh softly at him.

"You ready?" Maddie asks Kate.

"Um," she hesitates, glancing over at Castle for a moment. He smiles encouragingly at her, rises and drops his shoulders. "Yeah," she tells Maddie. "Let's go."

"Have fun," Castle calls as they turn to leave.

Kate takes a step and…can't. She just can't leave without answering him. She turns back and steps in close, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. "Yes," she replies simply, locking her eyes with his. "But raincheck?" She quirks her head in Maddie's direction in some kind of apology.

He smiles but she suspects that he's suppressing it, pressing his lips together to hide the joy behind his teeth. It leaks up into his eyes unbidden, shines in the blue of his irises. She returns the smile for a moment before turning back to her friend, linking their arms together as they walk to the elevator.

"Did I interrupt something?" Maddie asks.

"Yeah," Kate admits. "But I think it will keep."

"We're not gonna lack for topics tonight are we?"

She pushes the button for the elevator and looks over her shoulder. Castle is still standing by her desk, watching them leave, that tamped down smile threatening to split his face wide.

"No, Maddie, I don't think we will."

* * *

_ I'd love to know what you think._

_A/N: This might be an unnecessary apology but I'm sorry that these updates have been so far apart. I have a break from school at the end of this month and I hope to get a decent amount written so that I can update more often. Thanks for your patience in the meantime._


	7. Anatomy of a Murder

_Summary: This is an alt-S3 story and explores how things would/could have gone differently if there were not significant others in the way. This will be told through a series of one-shots (or maybe two or three-shots depending on the episode) that will (most likely) not be related. (If they do relate to a previous chapter, that will be notated in the A/N at the beginning of the chapter.)_

_A/N: I hate that I haven't had time to individually reply to reviews but know that I have seen them all and appreciate all of you! One more week of class before I get a break and I CANNOT WAIT._

* * *

**Anatomy of a Murder**

* * *

Castle has always followed her lead. Wherever Kate Beckett went, he was wont to follow. He used to think that it only applied to his feet, but at some point he realized that his heart was following her lead as well. Even when he didn't like where it took him. Which is how he ended up at the beach with his ex-wife. Because she led him to believe that she didn't care for him, at least not in the way that he cared for her.

But things have been different since he's been back; his heart's been hopeful, has been skipping along beside her every time she smiles at him, leaps every time he makes her laugh, stutters every time their hands brush.

Her lead in this seems so say to just be for now. So he's waiting.

* * *

"'And no matter the obstacles, no matter how hard you try, you'll never get rid of me. I love you.'"

His heart arrests as if the muscle recognizes that those same words are woven through its cells. Kate is staring at him, gaping really, her eyes telegraphing too many emotions to catalogue. The air around them is thick, heavy with expectation and uncertainty.

Were he the old Rick Castle, he'd already be kissing her but he follows her lead. And right now, her lead says that this isn't the time. Or maybe not the place. Her lead is definitely saying that she's scared and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't as well. This thing between them, whatever it is, it's bigger than them. Her lead says run.

He clears his throat. "You're right, these are worthless."

She looks down for a moment before flicking her eyes back up to him, a hint of smile turning up the corners of her lips.

This is why his heart remains hopeful.

* * *

"C'mon Beckett, after everything they've been through, they deserve it." He thinks that he's starting to wear her down.

"Castle, I am not driving to New Jersey to get dinner for a convicted felon and the boyfriend that broke her out of prison."

"Where's your sense of romance, Beckett?"

"Not in Hillsdale," she scoffs.

"But theirs is," he counters. "All it takes is one chance meeting, don't judge the location." Like a flashy book release party that isn't actually representative of the man it's celebrating.

She releases a breath out of her nostrils, relaxes her shoulders. But doesn't reply. She almost seems to be waiting. Maybe she just needs that tiny bit of coaxing.

He leans an elbow on the corner of the desk, shifts forward in his chair. "A love story as good as theirs deserves a shot at a happy ending," he says softly.

Her body cants towards him as if she doesn't realize that she's doing it, her mouth contorted in thought. She slides her eyes over to his, the crease between her brows that he finds so endearing making an appearance. He's sure that it's there because of frustration, he can see that she wants to relent but is still fighting it. Her lead says not to push.

But he doesn't want to follow her lead this time; he _wants_ to push until she gives in, until she sees the romance in the gesture.

(Until she realizes that he's not only talking about Amy and Greg deserving a happy ending.)

"Fine," she says to his surprise. "Maybe we'll have heard something from the Attorney General's office so we can deliver them dinner and good news."

He grins at her acceptance, jumping up to grab her coat and holding it out for her. He's not rushing because he's afraid she'll change her mind. No, not at all.

She snags the coat from his hands and shoves her arms in the sleeves herself. But the grin never leaves his face as he dons his own coat.

* * *

Castle spends the beginning of the drive to Burgeropolis messing with the radio, looking for something bouncy and fun to play until Kate swats his hand away from the controls and hits the button for one of her presets, quiet, piano driven music flowing from the speakers.

He settles back in his seat, not even trying to fake annoyance at her. Because he's not annoyed at all. How can he be when Kate Beckett believes in romance?

He orders food for not only Amy and Greg but also for the boys as a thank you for waiting on the call from Maloney and of course dinner for himself and Kate. He accepts the receipt with a flourish and an effusive thank you to the disinterested teen behind the counter, bouncing off to wait for their order. She follows along behind, wearing an amused smile when he turns to face her.

"What?" he asks. He knows what it is, knows that she's laughing at him but is feeling ornery enough to needle her about it.

"Just…" she trails off, shakes her head at him, chuckles softly. "You're adorable." She shrugs her shoulders with the admission as if she's trying to make nothing of it.

But it's not nothing, it's so much more than nothing. It's pretty much the last thing he was expecting. He's swamped with warm affection, feels it pool into the parentheses of his mouth, the lines around his eyes. She shakes her head at him again, a soft smile on her face.

He wants to kiss her. Wants to cradle her jaw in his hands and slant his lips over hers, trace his tongue along her bottom lip until he draws a contented sigh from her. She's still looking at him, the softness of her smile having migrated to her eyes as well.

Her lead says to act on that instinct.

He reaches a hand up, fingertips headed for her cheekbone -

"Here you go, sir," a chipper voice rings out.

He busies his hands with the paper trays of food instead of punching the young woman.

* * *

They're both quiet on the way back; in fact, neither of them have said a word since they slid the food off the counter and made their way out to the car. They're back in the city, blocks from the precinct when she speaks.

"Why do you believe in them so much?"

He glances over at her, finds her attention on the street out the windshield, none of her body language indicating that she'd spoken at all.

"Something my mother said to me," he answers, following her lead and directing his gaze forward. "She said that being willing to break someone out of prison was proof of true love. Greg used a lot of deceit to accomplish what he did but he did it for love." He pauses, his lips quirking up as he thinks of the nurse and his girlfriend. "I think it's admirable."

She doesn't respond as she smoothly parks the car in front of the precinct, keeps up the silence as he passes her one of the trays to carry, her lips sealed tight as they ride the elevator up to the fourth floor. When she talks next, it's to the boys to find out what the Attorney General's office had to say about Amy's file.

He assumes that's the end of that.

* * *

"Don't worry, Castle, I'd get you out."

He's stunned, shocked into paralyzation at the easy way she says it when not even an hour earlier he told her what the gesture represented to him.

She turns back when he doesn't follow, her eyes shy but somehow conveying a challenge at the same time. "You coming?"

The familiar phrase unsticks his feet and he couldn't care less how much of a fool he looks like hurrying to catch up with her. Her words ring in his head as they gather their coats from her desk, echo between his ears as they board the elevator.

"You'd really break me out of prison?" he blurts out as the doors slide closed.

She smirks but doesn't look at him. "That's what I said."

Her lead says tease. He can certainly work with that.

"Is it because you loooove me, Beckett?" He leans towards her as he says it, his breath ruffling her hair. Her mouth twists with a grin that she tries to repress, her chest heaving slightly with shallow breaths.

"Shut up," she pushes out through clenched teeth.

Oh, not a chance in hell of that.

He steps in closer, his chest brushing her arm. "Is that why, Beckett? Because you loooo-"

The word is cut off by her lips on his, her hands fisted in the lapels of his coat. She pushes him back against the wall of the elevator, the impact jostling their lips apart.

"I said, shut up," she growls before claiming his mouth again, fast and demanding.

He will gladly follow her lead on this.

He grips her hips and spins them so that she's the one pinned to the wall, crowds into her until their bodies line up, the warmth of her thighs leaching into his, her breasts pressed to his chest. She winds her arms around his neck as his mouth descends on hers again, tongue greedily seeking entrance.

He's lost in her, in the feel of her body against his, the hot heat of her talented mouth.

Someone clears their throat and Kate is suddenly shoving him away, his feet clumsy with the heady haze of arousal. She sucks in a breath, pushing past him to exit the elevator.

"'Bout time, man," a familiar voice mutters and Castle turns to find LT holding the elevator doors open. The writer clears his throat, a cheeky grin cracking his face wide as he walks past the officer.

He finds Kate out front, leaning against her cruiser. He's honestly surprised that she's waiting on him; he was prepared to find that she was already gone, ready to accept that she would act like it never happened.

Her head is bowed, arms drawn across her stomach protectively. As he nears her, he realizes that he has no idea what to say and the smile drops from his face. His muse has managed to make him speechless.

He stops a few feet in front of her, scuffs a toe along the concrete. She still hasn't looked at him or acknowledged his presence in any way. "Kate," he says, his voice imploring and soft, encouraging and without demand.

She raises her head slowly, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth, eyes downcast until the last possible second. When she does flick them up to him, he has to suck in a breath at the terrified look she gives him. It's obvious to him now that she did want to run and that it is taking all of her effort to stay put. He can see it in the stiff way she's holding herself, almost pressing herself against the car as if it can anchor her here.

"I don't want to pretend that didn't happen," he blurts out, afraid that if he doesn't say it now, he won't ever get the chance.

She worries that lip between her teeth for a moment before releasing it, shakes her head slowly. "Me neither," she whispers.

He takes a step towards her, notices her tense up. But she doesn't move away. So he takes another step. And then, to his utter surprise, she pushes off the car and stands tall, takes that final step to close the distance. They don't touch each other, arms dangling at their sides but close enough to share heat, breath.

"Kate, what are we doing?"

"I don't know," she admits, reaching out and running her fingers over his wrist, slides her hand down to lace their fingers together, palms kissing. "You wanna find out?" She's shy, shooting him glances from under her lashes.

He raises his other hand, finally able to finish what he had started hours ago at the restaurant, his fingers skirting along her cheekbone before he settles his palm at her jaw. She lists into him, eyes fluttering closed and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, how she melds into his touch. He smudges his lips against hers softly, once, twice. He smiles at how she chases his mouth, her neck stretching to be closer, have more.

He gives into both of their desires and crushes their lips together, swallows the moan that escapes her throat, runs his tongue across her bottom lip like he had also wanted to earlier, opening for her when her tongue darts out to meet his. He wants her closer and tries to disentangle their joined hands but she tightens her fingers to hang on, pulling back to look at him, her eyes dark and fathomless. She takes a couple of steps back, tugging on his hand.

"Let's get outta here," she says past a dazzling smile, her eyes glittering.

He's breathless with joy, overwhelmed with the lingering taste of her on his tongue, her scent in his nostrils. He can only nod in agreement as she turns toward the car.

Following her lead this time will be his pleasure.

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._


	8. 3XK

_Summary: This is an alt-S3 story and explores how things would/could have gone differently if there were not significant others in the way. This will be told through a series of one-shots (or maybe two or three-shots depending on the episode) that will (most likely) not be related. (If they do relate to a previous chapter, that will be notated in the A/N at the beginning of the chapter.)_

_A/N: The chapter for the next episode (Almost Famous) decided that it wanted to be M rated. But I want to keep the overall rating of this story T or less and so I'll be posting it as a separate story later this week. I'll put a link to it in the next chapter I post here or add me to alerts so you don't miss it._

* * *

**3XK**

* * *

The haunted look in his eyes is the worst of all.

When Kate got the call from Martha, she panicked. She drove half-blind to the motel, vaguely aware that Esposito was shooting her worried looks the entire time. She pounded up the stairs, "NO NO NO NO" screaming in her head in time with her racing heart. His name tore free from her throat in relief when she found him in the room. Whole and alive, not strangled like she feared. Not lying in a pool of his own blood. Not missing. Not any of the scenarios she prepared herself for.

She wasn't at all prepared for how defeated he would look. Wasn't prepared for the bright spark to his words to be extinguished. But that haunted look, that part is definitely the worst. She's tried to shield him from the worst of it, tried to keep his spirits high. Sometimes she thought that it was selfish of her, that she was trying to keep his morale intact in hopes that he could keep her from falling victim to her own bad tendencies. It was partially true but not entirely. She did it for him, too. For his daughter. She did it so that the deaths he experienced remained on the page and not on his conscious.

And now he understands in a way that she never wanted him to.

She follows Castle down the stairs, lets Esposito take his statement while she checks in with the paramedics attending to Ryan, relieved to find that he really is as fine as he claimed.

Relieved. The fear that had stayed with her is finally washed away as the relief flows through her.

Her feet carry her away from the scene, away from the flurry of the other officers, away from the staccato of the light bars on top of the cruisers, away from the vestiges of the panic that she arrived with. She makes her way out of the courtyard area, towards the front of the hotel. When the din behind her fades, she sinks against a wall, slides to the concrete, draws her knees to her chest, wraps her arms around her shins and rests her forehead on her knees. She sucks in a breath, releases it, repeats. Repeats again. Sucks in another breath that gets caught in her throat, revolts by escaping in a sob. She claps a hand to her mouth to stem the tide of emotion that wants to escape. It's not enough, the release breaking through the spaces between her fingers, dissipating into the evening air.

She thought he would be gone. Gone from life, from his family. From her. Which is stupid because he doesn't even have her. Not really. When he came back, it was easier to just go back to the way things were, easier to fall back into the banter and the flirting that led nowhere. Except it did lead somewhere. It led to longing. To wishing. To hoping.

It led to instant regret when they realized why Castle and Ryan hadn't returned. All the things never said that were locked in heart knocked down the door to escape. They're still zipping through her blood stream, sliding along her synapses, riding the contractions of her muscles. They're her constant companions now.

_He's important to you._

_You care about him._

_You could love him if you let yourself._

_He might already love you._

She wipes her palms across her cheeks to clear away the evidence left by the tear tracks and rises to her feet. He's fine. They're fine.

(She's fine.)

* * *

She spots him as she ducks under the tape, the light from the pool painting his face a sickly shade of blue. The blue of a corpse. Her hand tightens around the cup of coffee that she'd bought on a whim from the convenience store across the street. The warmth from the liquid within soaks through the paper, almost too hot on her skin but good. It's good to feel it, to know it means she's still alive.

Just like Castle. Alive.

_You care about him._

She settles herself beside him on the bench, wonders for a moment if he sat on one side of it on purpose, as if he knew she'd join him. She passes the cup over when she reaches him, watches as his slightly trembling hands slide under hers to take it. She lets her fingers linger longer than might be necessary; she could say it was to make sure that he had a good grip on the cup but that wouldn't be true at all.

"Thanks," he mutters softly.

She hums in welcome, afraid of what she'll say if she opens her mouth. But then her traitorous brain is taking over and she finds herself asking, "Tell me something, Castle. Why did he let you live?"

"To punish me. Make me pay for ruining his plan. Now he's gonna kill again all because I couldn't stop him. And I feel so..."

There it is again. The defeated look. The haunted eyes. She wants to make it better, to go back before he knew what this feeling was like.

She reaches out, wants to take his hand, wants to feel the grip of his fingers in hers holding on tight, too tight until she can feel their blood pounding in the spaces where their hands tangle together. She settles for placing her hand on his knee, a point of contact better than nothing.

"I know the feeling." If she can't shield him from it any longer, at least she can commiserate, let him know he's not alone.

"I know you do." There's too much pity in his voice. This isn't about her and her demons, this is about him.

He takes her hand, not quite the way she wants; too much of the action is about comforting her now.

_He might already love you._

Before she can stop herself, she twists her hand in his, laces their fingers together, rests their forearms on his thigh. She slides down the bench, closing the slight distance that there was between them and rests her head on his shoulder. He releases a breath on a rush, his cheek coming to rest at her crown.

Kate's not sure how long they sit there like that, the bustle of the scene around them blurring into white noise, the sound of him breathing and the feel of hand in hers becoming all that's important.

"Beckett?"

She raises her head at the sound of Ryan's tentative voice, finds the detective standing by the gate for the pool.

"EMT's have cleared me, I'm gonna head home."

"Sure."

He nods at her, then at Castle. "I'm glad you're okay, man. Sorry he got the drop on me."

"No worries. Happy ending, right?" The writer smiles grimly, obviously not quite believing his own words.

But they make the younger man's mouth genuinely curve up at the corners for a moment. "Yeah, I guess so." He seems to be looking at their joined hands as he says it. "See you tomorrow."

"Hey, Kev?" she calls out as he turns to leave. "How about you don't? Take tomorrow, okay?"

"Don't have to ask me twice," he replies, hurrying away like he thinks she might change her mind.

She shakes her head at his retreating form, an affectionate smile on her face for the man that's like a younger brother to her. She turns back to Castle, finds his face clouded over again. She stands, tugging on his hand to bring him with her.

"You too, time to go home, I'll take you."

He gives her a tight lipped smile in thanks, one that she returns before walking towards the gate, allowing her fingers to slip from his as she goes.

* * *

Kate walks him up, afraid to let him go by himself, not that she would admit that to him. He doesn't protest though, doesn't say anything actually, just silently accepts her presence in the elevator. She hovers behind him as he opens the door, finds herself balling her hands into fists at her sides to fight the urge to touch him. She wants to frame his waist with her hands, press her nose to his shoulder and inhale his scent.

Remind herself that he's still alive.

But that isn't what they do. The touching of earlier seemed to be borne of relief and they've kept their hands to themselves since walking away from the pool. So she shoves her hands in her pockets as she follows him through the door.

His home is darker than she's ever seen it, soft accent lights from the kitchen reaching tendrils of illumination past the countertops, the muted light bouncing sharp shadows off the furniture. Even more jarring is how quiet it is, nothing but the hum of the appliances greeting their arrival.

"Where's Martha and Alexis?" she asks.

"Sleeping, hopefully." Off the confused look she gives him, he continues, "They've gotten used to me coming home late and I didn't call them earlier, didn't want to worry them when I'm fine."

It sounds like something she would do, keep things to herself, don't worry people unnecessarily. It's not the way that he usually operates with his family and her heart constricts to think that this is something else that changed for him with this evening's events. It only took her three weeks to start keeping her work experiences from her dad and the better part of three years to change that habit.

"You'll tell them tomorrow though, right?" she asks.

He shrugs, frowns in thought for a moment. "Probably."

"Castle," she says, her voice a little desperate and catching his attention. "They need to know." She takes a step towards him, reaches out to grip his forearm. "You can't keep those things inside."

He places his hand over hers, meets her frantic eyes, "Okay, Kate, I'll tell them tomorrow."

_He's important to you._

She presses her lips together, swallows down the wave of emotion that threatens to break against the shore of her teeth. Good, that's good. She nods at him, lets her hand slip off his arm.

"I should go," she says when the air turns awkward.

"Yeah, sure." His voice is tight, his tone disappointed. She knows how he feels, she's not looking forward to going home to her too quiet apartment but she can't stay.

She turns back to the door, hears him shuffling along behind. He reaches past her for the doorknob and freezes, seems to be denying her exit.

"What if you didn't?" His voice threads through her hair, plays rich in her ears. She's frozen in place by what she's sure he's asking. "What if you stayed?"

The air rushes out of her lungs, her head swimming. She twists her torso to face him, her feet rooted to the ground, finds him gazing at her hopeful and open and scared. He looks like child asking their parent to leave the light on.

She feels like she should go. This is too much, too far. This isn't what they do. But right now, she can't figure out why.

_You care about him._

She feels like she should go but she doesn't want to. Nor does she have a good reason to refuse him.

"Okay," she whispers.

He releases a shaky breath, his body relaxing with the exhalation. She would give anything for him to not be burdened tonight and if she can do that by agreeing to a request that unburdens her as well, she'll agree all night.

"Okay, Castle. I'll stay."

* * *

_A/N: This is not necessarily the end as the events of this chapter will directly tie into the chapters for Setup and Countdown._

_I'd love to know what you think._


	9. Close Encounters

_Summary: This is an alt-S3 story and explores how things would/could have gone differently if there were not significant others in the way. This will be told through a series of one-shots (or maybe two or three-shots depending on the episode) that will (most likely) not be related. (If they do relate to a previous chapter, that will be notated in the A/N at the beginning of the chapter.)_

_A/N: If you missed it, I started a new story called "Another Life: Between the Sheets" for the M-rated Almost Famous chapter. The response has been fabulous and there will be at least one more chapter there. (But probably two.)_

_I was thrilled that with the last chapter, I passed 100 reviews for this story, a first for me. Thank you so much for your support, I love hearing what you have to say. Also, with the posting of this chapter, I'm over 25,00 words and am halfway to the goal of 50,000 for the Castle Ficathon. I think I'll make it!_

_Extra special thanks to Lou for being the best cheerleader ever and for continuing to have amazing prompts. (This chapter wouldn't exist without her.) And all the awards to Jennifer for putting up with my non-linear brain and catching my mistakes. Like a sentence I stopped in the middle of._

* * *

**Close Encounters of the Murderous Kind**

* * *

He talked her into dinner. Not that it was difficult but he thinks that he succeeded in persuading her and he's just so damned proud that it doesn't seem right to let him know that all he needed to do was ask.

That's probably all he's needed to do for a while.

They settle in at a diner, one that reminds Kate of she and her father's favorite, the mix of smells - coffee and bacon grease and whatever today's special is - wrapping her in comfort. It was Castle's pick and not one that she would expect from him. She's starting to expect that from him though, the unexpected. The bits of him that aren't what you see on the surface, in the newspaper. The human bits. Not that he's focusing on anything human tonight.

"Okay, ground rules," she says as they slide into the booth.

He raises his eyebrows at her. "Rules for dinner?"

"Rules for this one," she punctuates with a nod and an index finger poked to the table top. "Well, ok, just one rule: No more conspiracy theories."

"Awwww," he whines, slumping down on the bench with a frown. "You're stealing all my fun."

She opens a menu in front of her face to hide her amusement. "I'm never gonna tell you anyway."

"You're laughing at me, aren't you?"

She lowers the shield to share her mirth with him. "Stop making it so easy," she admits with the shrug of one shoulder.

He opens his own menu, tries to pull a pout but it falls apart around the smile that curves his mouth. "You like my theories."

She makes a show of looking at her watch. "And it only took you a minute and a half to break the rule."

"C'mon, I didn't-"

"Nuh-uh, no talking until we order."

"Mean," he mutters rebelliously before abiding her punishment.

She sneaks glances at him over the top of her menu, glimpses of his creased brow, the slope of his nose, his lips pursed in thought. She feels her face soften, her heart heavy with affection for her handsome dinner companion. It's comforting, this affection. She spent too much of the summer ensconced in heartbreaking despair that the affection is a relief. Because she wasn't sure that she'd ever see him again let alone have the chance to feel this kind of relief.

Much like the relief she felt when they woke up in the car. The panic she had felt under the harsh light receded as she registered his shoulder under her cheek, his heart still beating, his skin warm. She might have taken an extra moment to move, might have hovered by his face for a little longer than was strictly necessary. The urge to press her lips to his in celebration had been a hard one to shove down.

She's still not sure why she resisted.

They place their orders and fall into easy conversation while they wait. Castle recounts his dinner with Ashley's parents and has her in tears of laughter as their food is set on the table, unendingly amused that he called her within earshot of those poor people. She can just imagine their horrified faces as they listened to Castle babble about spies and truth serum and possible alien abductions.

"How fast did they refuse to let their son anywhere near you?" she asks, wiping the drops of moisture from her lower lashes.

"That's the weirdest part, they apparently found me 'fascinating' and are coming with us on the camping trip."

She had just recovered but is overtaken by another wave of giggling laughter that presses her down onto the bench seat as her shoulders shake with amusement.

He's grousing when she sits back up, looks like he's trying to glare at her but her laughter is contagious and he's obviously trying to hide a smile behind his fork as he shoves pieces of French toast in his mouth. He's failing spectacularly but it's cute that he's trying.

"What are you even going to talk about?" she manages to squeak out as she's catching her breath.

He groans, dropping his fork onto his plate and his forehead into his palms. "Don't remind me."

She chuckles at him as she finally tucks into her food but barely has the fork speared into a piece of lettuce when his head raises so sharply that she startles.

"You should come with us!" he exclaims, his eyes bright.

She looks at him incredulously. "Why?"

"You totally speak his language, so when I get overbearing and annoying, you can sweep in and dazzle him with your opinions on deficit spending in economic downturns. Oh, you would make me look so good!"

He's serious. He's actually waiting for her to just agree to come on his family camping trip.

"No, Castle." Shame flames her cheeks unbidden, there's no reason she should feel bad about refusing his ridiculous idea. Yet she does.

"Awww, c'mon, why not?" he whines at her, bouncing in his seat, fists lightly pounding the table. He is literally having a tantrum. An understated one to be sure but still, all this because she had said no.

"Castle, it's a trip with the parents. I'm no one's parent, I have no reason to be there."

He sobers at that, seriousness washing his features of any previously seen immaturity. He nods at her, sadness in his eyes.

"You're right, I'm sorry. I just…Just felt like I needed some back up and you're who I always look to for that so, it…made sense in my head." He drops his eyes to the table top, shoulders slumping at the same time.

The warm affection swamps her again, heart full to bursting at his explanation. She reaches across the table for one of his hands, wriggling her fingers into his palm to get him to release the fist his are still curled into. He unfurls them gladly, engulfing her smaller hand with his, looks up at her hopefully.

"I'll make you a deal, if you get bored or run out of topics, you can call or text me anytime, okay?"

A broad smile blooms across his face, the hand surrounding hers squeezing tight for a moment.

"You have yourself a deal."

Joy floods her face, draws the corners of her mouth up, crinkles her nose, fills the lines around her eyes. She loves that she can make him so happy with such a simple offer. She allows herself to revel in the feeling a little longer, the joy overflowing from her and swirling around them, between them, through them.

When the feeling settles comfortably, she slides her hand from his and goes back to her food. They strike conversation back up, easy and normal. Everything back where it should be but somehow a little bit more.

* * *

She usually just drops him off at his building but tonight she finds a spot on his block and eases the cruiser in.

"Walk you up?" she offers, not ready to be out of his company.

"Yeah," he replies softly. "I'd like that."

They shoot glances at each other as they walk, as they stand in elevator, each time looking away like they've been caught. It's ridiculous and juvenile and so sweet that her heart takes on that heavy affection yet again, has her hand itching to be cradled in his once more.

He opens the door and sweeps a hand for her to enter, but she shakes her head. "I should get going."

"Oh." The word from his tongue is so laden with disappointment that she almost recants. "Yeah, it's late."

"Still have reports to carefully word tomorrow so it'll be a long day." It sounds pathetic as she says it, as if she's making up an excuse to leave when she would love nothing more than to come in and share a drink with him on the sofa.

"Thanks for coming to dinner," he says with a lift of his lips that she mirrors.

"Sure," she replies demurely, not at all sure that she deserves a thanks for that. "Anytime, Castle."

"I'll remember that." There's an added twinkle to his eyes now.

It makes her breathless to realize again how happy he gets when she agrees to things. Dinner, a compromise on an outrageous request. They're just simple things but they mean so much to him.

He shuffles towards her a step, his movement making her realize that they've just been standing in his hallway grinning at each other.

"Weren't you leaving?" he says softly, a teasing lilt in his tone.

"I – Yeah," she stutters, her feet carrying her a step towards him, the blue of his eyes drawing her ever closer.

"You don't have to." He practically whispers as if he's afraid to say it louder.

"I know." Another step in and she's directly in front of him, so close that their hands brush and she gives into the temptation to slide them together, fingers tangling.

His other hand slides over her hip, the heat of his palm burning into her skin. She tips her face up to his, finds him so close that their noses bump but neither of them pull back. She waits and he leans in to brush his lips to hers, but it's too brief, too chaste. She clutches his shoulder to keep him in place, presses her lips into his fully, feels the spark between them as he responds in kind.

It's not desperate, that's the part that surprises her the most. She thought that when her lips finally touched his it would be in desperation; caught in one of the impossible situations they always seem to find themselves in. She never thought that it would be outside of his home, front door hanging wide open while they explore each other.

He pulls back, not far, just enough to say, "Come inside?" She nods, the ends of her hair brushing against his cheeks.

He walks backward through the door, bringing her with. He steals kisses as he goes, darting in and back out, grinning like a little boy getting away with trouble. She kicks the door closed behind them and he reaches past her to flip the lock, laying claim to her neck as he does. Her knees weaken, his arm banding around her waist to keep her upright, and starts his backward traverse again. He leads the way to the sofa, maneuvering them to lie down in one fluid, impressive movement.

They breathe for a moment, eyes locked, hearts pounding. And then they move, crashing into each other, giving into long repressed desires, months of want melting away with every press of their fingers, every glide of their lips.

Somewhere in the back of her brain, Kate registers a key scraping into the lock, the deadbolt clunking, the handle turning. But her senses are otherwise occupied and it takes an extra few seconds to collect herself, to push his hands down from under her shirt, untangle her legs from his. She hears the heels clicking on the hardwood and the "Richard, are you home?" at the same time he does if the way that his lips startle off her neck are any indication.

"Oh," the pleased voice of his mother is close now. Probably right next to the sofa, not that Kate is willing to look up to find out. "I see you are, I'll make myself scarce."

Kate pushes at his chest to get him to sit up, swinging her feet the floor and burying her face in her hands. She can hear Martha going up the stairs, calling out "Good night, darlings" with a knowing note to her voice. Castle makes a halfhearted attempt to go after his mother and she uses that chance to rise and make her way towards the door.

She's reaching for the handle when he calls out, "You don't have to go."

"I know, but I should," she answers, opening the door as she does. It's cowardly to leave without looking back and she forces herself to turn around, her heart twisting when she sees the slump of his shoulders. She leaves the door open, swiftly closing the distance between them to cradle his jaw in her hands, capture his lips with hers. "We have a lot to talk about," she says as she draws back. "We should do that when we're both thinking clearer."

He nods, "Yeah, you're right."

She searches his face once more, catching his eyes and smiling encouragingly , pleased to see his eyes soften and a genuine smile shine back at her. She steps back, allowing her hands to drop from his face and turns to walk out the door, leaving before she talks herself out of it.

* * *

"Still going with 'the government kidnapped me' excuse today? Or do you want to actually claim alien abduction this time?" Ryan asks, smirking at her as she prepares a coffee.

"I told you it's not a hickey," she replies exasperatedly, raising her hand to the right side of her neck, wincing as her fingers make contact with the mark.

"Yeah, um, I was talking about that." He points to the left side of her neck and could swear that she instantly flushes pink.

She claps a hand over the spot and rushes past him out of the break room, heading straight for the bathroom. Ever with the impeccable timing, Castle walks out of the elevator, coffee cups in hand. Her stride hitches then stops, one foot in front of the other in the middle of a step. He can see Castle over her shoulder, frozen in place, his face a mix of trepidation and fear.

"I'm gonna kill you," she hisses at him. She probably intended it to be meant for the writer's ears only but the ferocity in her voice carries the words. Castle's mouth opens and closes noiselessly for a moment before she huffs out a breath and continues on her way.

Ryan barks out a laugh, works hard to stifle it before it builds to full on hysterical laughter but the sound catches Castle's attention, his head snapping up to where the detective is leaning against the doorframe.

"Not hickies, huh?" he comments with the raise of his eyebrows.

He sighs. "We told you guys what happened," he says wearily.

"Oh yeah, I know. Those things yesterday, not hickies. That thing on the other side of Beckett's neck today though?" He draws out the last word, trailing his voice up as he does.

Castle's eyes widen impossibly large and he whips his head around to look at the bathroom door again. "She really is gonna kill me," he breathes.

Ryan doubles over as the laughter overtakes him.

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._


	10. Last Call

_Summary: This is an alt-S3 story and explores how things would/could have gone differently if there were not significant others in the way. This will be told through a series of one-shots (or maybe two or three-shots depending on the episode) that will (most likely) not be related. (If they do relate to a previous chapter, that will be notated in the A/N at the beginning of the chapter.)_

_A/N: This is vaguely related to chapter 3, basically, assume the interrogation in A Deadly Affair happens the way it does in that chapter but the rest of the episode went down the way it did on screen._

_Thanks to Lou for her continuing prompts and unending support and as always for Jennifer for catching my mistakes._

* * *

**Last Call**

* * *

They haven't not talked about their summers it just hasn't ever come up. She knows he's not with Gina and he knows she's not with Demming because of the interrogation during the burlesque case, but outside of that room, they've never elaborated nor asked.

It's like they have an unspoken pact to ignore the fact that they're both single.

Not that this ever stops her from thinking about him.

Which is exactly what she was doing when he called her to meet him at The Old Haunt. Comfortably tucked into bed, laptop abandoned next to her, hands that she wished were broader roaming her body as she did nothing _but_ think about him.

Being near him is a bad idea right now. Close enough to breathe in, to touch is just asking for her to get into trouble. But they don't talk about it so she can't exactly tell him she's, uh, otherwise occupied, can she?

And so here they are. In a _very_ private basement. Alone. She huffs annoyance at him, informs him that he got her out of bed where she was doing research on her laptop which isn't entirely a lie since that's what she was intending to do before she got…distracted.

"Bed, huh?" He throws a look over his shoulder as they descend the stairs, his eyes making a quick trip down to her toes and back up before turning front again, the sweep of his gaze instantly prickling her skin with heat.

She crosses her arms over her breasts as if his vision can penetrate all the layers of fabric to give him an unimpeded view.

(Okay, Kate, maybe best to lay off words like "penetrate.")

He ignores her posture when they get to the bottom of the stairs, instead launching into a convoluted story about prohibition.

"Can you get to the point?" She knows she practically barks it at him, but seriously, she thought he actually had something.

To her surprise, he does; quickly laying out the rest of his theory, even gets her to help with the bookshelf. She will not think about how the effort caused grunts that echoed around the space, won't think about how they're both breathing a little heavier, both a little flushed.

She's finally relieved from her wandering mind when the hidden door is revealed and she's sucked back into the case, the zip of her blood related to what they're finding rather than the man at her back.

(Mostly.)

He brushes past her in excitement when they find Mayor James's stash, close enough to fill her nostrils with fabric softener and a hint of cologne and the indescribable scent of him. She has to stop and take a deep breath in an attempt to clear the wave of arousal that overtakes her, grateful that he's too distracted by the whiskey to notice that she hasn't moved an inch. He's staring at the bottles reverently, almost lustfully and his move to take one from its perch snaps her back.

"Hey! That's evidence!"

He pouts at her, puppy dog eyes, protruding lower lip, the whole deal. She focuses on the wall opposite him, the beam of her flashlight skipping along the bottles. She hums acknowledgement when he points out that some of the bottles have been moved, turns when she hears his crow of delight.

"There's our murder weapon! Poor guy, never saw it coming."

She's not sure if he's talking about Donny or the shattered red glass on the table top. But from the way he's gazing at the bottle's remains, she's pretty sure she knows. He leans down to be at eye level with the table and her mouth goes dry.

Because he doesn't just bend at the waist or crouch down or anything normal. No, he has to step back with one leg and go into a lunge, the weight on his back leg putting his muscles to work, stretching his skin against the denim, calf and enticing dips behind his knee and firm thigh on display.

And then he flips the jacket up over his back.

There's probably a practical reason for the move, the fabric was too close to the table maybe, but all she can think is that the bastard did it on purpose because now there is nothing impeding her view all the way up to where his leg meets his ass, the rounded cheek just begging to be cupped in her palm. Her eyes are cresting his hip as he glances over his shoulder and she's suddenly aware that he's probably been talking while she was ogling. She melds her face into an impassive mask as he stands and turns to her.

"Were you just…?" he trails off, looks at her confounded with a touch of wonderment.

"Was I what?" she asks, innocent as can be.

He narrows his eyes at her, tilts his head disbelievingly. She just widens her eyes and shrugs her shoulders, dropping her eyes for a moment to get out from under his scrutinizing gaze.

And that's when she spots the drag marks through the dirt, any previous (alleged) ogling tabled for future conversation.

Just like their summers.

* * *

He got her to sing. In public. She really does have it bad if just that little bit of disappointment in his eyes caused her to belt out a line of a song in the middle of her workplace.

But of course she has it bad. She broke up with a perfectly nice guy to be with him. Turned down another because he didn't match up to what she had in her head. Didn't match up to him.

They all settle in at a large table at the bar, tumblers slid across the smooth wood as Castle ceremoniously opens his beloved bottle, Ryan and Esposito battering a drumroll on the table top as the cork clears the glass. He oh so carefully tips the liquid into the cups, raising his in a toast as the last is filled.

"To old friends and new beginnings." He looks around the bar fondly as he says it, his affection for the place on display in his eyes.

They clink glasses and then Castle finally has the chance to pass the amber liquid over his tongue. Kate can't keep her eyes off of him as he does, watches the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows, his eyelashes fluttering, lids falling shut in ecstasy. Her fingers tighten around her glass; her legs pressed tightly together, the pressure not nearly enough to take the edge off of the relentless throbbing.

She focuses her attention on her own drink as his eyes open. She's embarrassed to admit that she forgot they weren't alone, embarrassed that men that are like family to her probably didn't miss her staring. In her peripheral vision, she sees Esposito trying to smother a smirk in another sip of whiskey. Yeah, they didn't miss a damn thing.

Montgomery complements the liquor, Ryan asks about the bar and the conversation flows from there until one by one the guys head out and they're all alone.

"Oh, I should show you my plans for downstairs!" he exclaims suddenly, jumping up from the table and gathering his prized possession, literally cradling the red glass bottle like baby in the crook of his arm. He didn't ask if she wanted to see, just bounded over to the secret door in the floor, expecting her to follow.

And of course she does. She can't not.

He starts pointing things out, his eyes bright with excitement, his body practically vibrating with energy and she can't help staring again as he talks. He's casual tonight, shed the blazer when they got here, sleeves of his button up rolled to just below his elbows, the muscles of his forearms rippling as he motions around the room.

He walks over to the book shelf, launches into a plan to put it on hinges so it can be a secret entrance to the tunnel, "Not that I get to keep the whole thing, they're bricking up just past the shotgun door next week but I can't pass up an opportunity like that, can I?" He turns around to face her, just barely catching her as her eyes flick back up to his face.

"You could hide your superhero costumes back there," she quips, pleased with herself that she could ogle and listen at the same time this time.

"You keep doing that," he says in reply but she doesn't follow.

"Doing what?"

"Looking. Checking me out."

She blushes, the rush of blood coming on so quick that she feels the heat from her chest to her hairline. "I don't know what you're, uh, talking about," she stammers, cursing herself for the hitch in her words.

"Yesterday in Beau James' stash, earlier tonight when I was drinking – yeah, I noticed," he adds off her shocked face, "and right now. You keep…looking at me."

They don't talk about this. They don't ever acknowledge things. But now he is. He's asking her point blank and she has no idea what to say because they _don't talk about it._

"I know we don't talk about this," he says as if he can read her mind, "but maybe we should."

She takes a long, slow inhale, using the moment to draw on her courage. "What do you want to talk about?" she breathes on the release of air.

"Can I ask you something?" It's not what she was expecting him to say but that helps, the unexpected shaking loose some of the anxiety that had built in her stomach.

"Yeah."

"How was your summer?" His voice is soft, genuine curiosity in his tone but it brings her anxiety back tenfold.

"It was fine." She's hedging and she knows he knows it from the disappointed look he gives her. He just gave her a chance to be honest and she completely blew it. It's just like earlier when she didn't join the sing along.

Except it's not. Because this is important. And she can't stand to disappoint him.

"It wasn't great," she starts again, bravely meeting his eyes as they startle up at her. "I missed you. I thought about you a lot." The admission steals her breath and she has to stop to gulp in air.

"I missed you, too. I often wondered what you were doing, what cases you were on. I almost called you a couple dozen times at least, but…" he trails off but now she's curious.

"But what?"

"I didn't know if you want to hear from me, I didn't want to bother you. I chucked my phone in the ocean one night just to stop myself."

She laughs at that, giggles really, a tinkling bit of laughter spilling from her lips. "Good thing you could afford a new one."

"Probably should have backed that one up first though," he says with a grimace, her giggling morphing into a richer laugh. He grins at her, sharing in her amusement.

She sobers but tries to maintain the lighter atmosphere. "You could have called me. You should have called me," she amends.

"You could have called me," he shoots back. It's not accusatory, he's merely pointing out what he believes to be a flaw in her logic.

"You were writing. You were with Gina."

"You were with Demming."

"Except…" she says with a shrug

He sighs. "Except."

"I wanted you to be with me," she blurts out. "At work," she clarifies, "it didn't feel right to be working on cases without you."

"I wanted you with me, too. I mainly invited you to the Hamptons to give you an opportunity to decompress. You work so hard, I wanted to help take some of that stress off."

"That's not why you invited me." She shakes her head at him, smiling at how sweet he's being.

"I said it was the main reason, I'll concede it wasn't the only one," he replies with the raise of an eyebrow. There's nothing sweet about that move and it causes a flush of warmth over her skin.

"Okay, so," she starts, all this information collating in her brain, "I missed you, you missed me, we both wanted to be with the other over the summer, so why-" She stops, chewing on her bottom lip in thought and glances up at him, hoping that he's following her line of reasoning. His eyes are intently fixed on her, want shining from their cobalt depths.

"So why?" he prompts, clearly waiting for her to say it.

"So why are we not now?"

"I really don't know," he says as he crosses the short distance between them, gathers her in his arms and crushes their lips together in a brutal kiss.

She sighs into his mouth, the gentleness of the sound dichotomous to the rough claim he's making. They're making, really, because she's certainly not a passive participant in this. She runs her hands over him greedily, glides her palms up his back before moving them around to his chest, raising her hands to slide her fingers through his hair. He has a hand pressed firmly in her lower back, his hips pressed into hers to hold them together, his other splayed at her jaw, fingers occasionally dipping down to brush against her neck. His mouth is relentless against hers, taking and giving, sharing with and stealing from her.

Her body is on fire, blood roaring through her veins, lungs burning from the rough bursts of air passing though, and the throbbing between her legs is back with a vengeance. She wants him, _needs_ him. But not here, not like this. She slides her hands down his arms, prying his hands away from where they're attached to her, lacing their hands together as she steps back with a nip to his lower lip.

"Take me home, Castle."

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._


	11. Nikki Heat

_Summary: This is an alt-S3 story and explores how things would/could have gone differently if there were not significant others in the way. This will be told through a series of one-shots (or maybe two or three-shots depending on the episode) that will (most likely) not be related. (If they do relate to a previous chapter, that will be notated in the A/N at the beginning of the chapter.)_

* * *

**Nikki Heat**

* * *

It isn't right. She's the wrong Nikki. No, wait, wrong Beckett. No, not even that, she's not Beckett at all. Castle drops the clothing box both out of shock and as a way to get his hands free so he can get his hands on her. Get his hands on her to get her off of him, that is. He can't close his eyes, can't give himself over to this because _it isn't right._

And he wouldn't have seen the devastation on Kate's face if he had closed them.

The elevator doors close too quickly for him to do anything about it, his movement impeded by the actress twining herself around him. "Natalie, stop," he says, firmly gripping her biceps and holding her away from him.

"You guys are together, aren't you?" She poses it as a question but there's more than a little bit of supposed knowing in her voice.

"No," he corrects as he hits the button for the upcoming floor.

"Then why are you so desperate to go explain yourself?"

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. "It's complicated," he sputters as he dashes out of the car and up the stairs.

It's only complicated because he doesn't know what she wants. He's tried to surreptitiously ask her at least a dozen times what they were, if they could be more. He's either being too subtle or she doesn't want to talk about it.

But that look on her face said a lot and the pain in her eyes is too hard to ignore. So, yeah, he needs to explain himself.

Her desk is neatly organized, paperwork lined up in her end-of-the-day stacks, computer shut down. He _just_ left, how could she be gone?

"Dude, what did you do?" Esposito asks him as he comes out of the break room.

"What are you talking about?"

"She just jetted out of here and she was not happy, so what'd you do?"

"Which way did she go?"

Esposito narrows his eyes at him. "Why?"

Castle huffs exasperatedly, completely out of patience for the overprotective brother routine right now. "Because I think I'm the reason she's unhappy and I'd like to fix it," he says in a rush, hoping that the truth will be the quickest way to the information he's looking for.

It works, Esposito pointing wordlessly towards the back hallway, clearly surprised that Castle admitted it so easily but the writer has no time to explain. He rushes down the hallway, the stairs, races into the garage and to her cruiser's designated spot -

Only to find it empty.

He wants to laugh or yell in frustration or drop to the concrete in defeat. But he doesn't know what she wants so he doesn't know which is the appropriate reaction. He's tempted to make the grand gesture and show up at her door, beg her to let him explain. But he has no idea why he should.

He settles for going home. He hates it.

* * *

He brings her a cup of coffee the next morning because it's normal and he thinks they need some of that right now. That she needs the reminder that just because Natalie Rhodes has turned their world on its side, he's still here. She gives him an icy glare when he offers the cup to her but he doesn't waver, doesn't shrink his hand back.

"Is that for me or for the fictional version of me? Or have you already taken care of her this morning?"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" He asks it as a challenge, wondering if she'll actually admit that she saw what he knows she saw.

He doesn't have the chance to find out as a crying Jenny O'Malley rushes past them.

* * *

He's in the break room to give Ryan some space to call Jenny and, yes, okay, to hide from Beckett and Creepy Beckett. He's distracted, checking an email on his phone, but raises his head when the one of the doors click closed, watches Kate cross the room to pull the other door closed as well before she turns to face him.

"You didn't sleep with her," she states without preamble.

He pockets his phone, shaking his head as he does. "No, I did not."

She folds her arms under her breasts, her eyebrows knitting together in a move that he knows means that she can't make sense of the evidence before her. "Why?"

He shrugs. "A fictional character that I wrote based on you, played by Natalie Rhodes? It's just way too meta." It's not untrue but it's not the main reason. The reason that she's probably looking for him to say.

She fixes him with a gaze so intense that it feels as though she's looking right though him. He's seen her stare down plenty of suspects, seen her use the silence to get them to reveal their secrets but this isn't that. It feels more intimate, like she's looking for his secrets rather than coaxing them out, like she's fishing through his heart to find the truth. He'll let her look all she wants but all she really has to do is ask.

They're silent for a long moment, her searching, him waiting. She opens her mouth like she's about to speak when there's a timid knock at the door. They turn their heads to find Ryan on other side of the glass, his eyes broadcasting apology. Beckett waves an arm for him to enter and Castle has to smother a laugh as the man gingerly eases the door open and takes a tentative step into the room.

"Just wanted to let you know that the three other clients of Stacy's that have filed for divorce alibi out and Espo just got back," he says in a rush, as if he's afraid she'll kick him out if he pauses too long.

"He find anything on Greta Morgan?"

"Yeah. Found something pretty interesting at the Meritage Hotel," Esposito answers as he steps up beside his partner. They wait a beat but he doesn't elaborate.

"What?" Beckett snaps out.

"Greta Morgan." He jerks his chin out the window where the woman in question is being escorted across the bullpen to interrogation.

"Good work," she tells them, the men nodding at her before turning to leave.

Her gaze swings back to Castle, that searching look back on her face but this time she doesn't wait to talk. "We're not done here. I believe your reasoning but that's not the whole answer, is it?"

He hesitates, another half-truth on his tongue but how can he expect her to talk about what she wants when he doesn't always make it clear? He forgoes any subtext he might have said in favor of a single syllable. "No." He's gravely serious, knows that that alone should tell her plenty but he can't completely reign in the lust in his tone, trying instead to keep it at a work acceptable level. He might have failed on that aspect though.

Because the searching look is gone, replaced with some shock at his boldness, her eyes darkening more than a little. "That's what I thought," she breathes. She drops her eyes to the floor, clears her throat and leaves the room to go do her job.

* * *

The congratulations for Kevin and Jenny have long passed, the couple escaping home for their own private celebration once a round of handshakes and hugs was passed around. Castle's proud of the man, of his perseverance to make sure that his love understood what was going on.

Which is why he's still at the precinct, sitting in his chair, watching Kate finish paperwork. He's been inspired and is now waiting for his own chance to explain his interaction with the starlet. Because it seems that she does want to hear it and if he wants anything close to what the future Mr. and Mrs. Ryan have, he's willing to put in the work.

She raises her coffee cup to her lips, frowning when she finds it empty but his hand is right there offering to take it from her but she doesn't relinquish it to him. "Go home, Castle. Everyone else has."

"Uh-uh," her shakes in head in dismissal, "You said we're not done, so I'm still here."

"I didn't mean it has to be tonight." She sighs, sitting back in her chair.

He stands and plucks the mug from her hand. "And put it off for another week? Another month? I'm tired of that, I'm beyond tired of that." He doesn't give her a chance to respond, just heads into the break room and sets about refilling her drink. He's layering the milk over the espresso when she appears at the doorway, accepts the coffee he offers her, holding the mug to her chest like a shield.

"You didn't sleep with her," she states in an echo of their previous conversation. He leans back against the counter, shaking his head. "Why?"

No evasion this time. "She wasn't you."

She takes a deep breath, seems to be gathering herself, and moves to take a seat at one of the tall bistro tables. He stays where he is, knows that crowding her isn't at all the right move right now but wants to be in her proximity, wants to take her hand while she rides the tide of emotion he can see in her eyes at his simple sounding declaration.

Because they're just three small words but together they're unmaking her world.

"I saw you," he says into the silence. Her face is still oriented towards the table, but her eyes slide over to him, not quite meeting his eyes. "Before the elevator door closed," he clarifies. "I got out at the next floor but you were gone before I could get back up here."

"Why'd you come back?" she asks softly.

"To explain myself."

"Castle, you didn't have to-"she protests weakly.

"I did," he states decisively, cutting off the end of her sentence. He has her full attention now and she shifts in the chair, facing him fully. "Because I saw you. You were upset. And I needed to explain that she kissed me. That she insisted she was Nikki and I was Rook and she needed to sleep with me to be the character. And she can be Nikki all she wants but she wasn't you."

She nods, chewing on in the inside of her lip in thought for a moment. "I've heard you ask me. When you've tried to figure out what this is, what we are? I've heard you."

He suspected as much but hearing her admit it stings. "Why didn't you answer?"

"Because the last time I tried to talk to you about anything regarding…us," she hesitates on the last word but it's one of the most beautiful things to ever fall past her lips, "you left with your ex-wife for the summer."

He feels his brow contort in confusion. "What were you really going to say that day?"

"I was going to accept your invitation." It's exactly what he assumed she was about to say but it still lands like a punch to the gut.

"So why the hesitation now?"

"I keep waiting for you to move on again."

Is she crazy? Move on to what? "I can't. No one's you, Kate. Not Gina, certainly not Natalie Rhodes, though she put in a good effort." That earns him an eye roll and a smile tugs the corners of his lips up for a moment. "But I wasn't moving on last summer. I was trying to cover a wound."

"Did it work?"

"Not even a little."

She nods and it looks like understanding, a pleased smile gracing her mouth. "So what now?" she asks.

"Go out with me," he says boldly, not even bothering to pose it as a question.

Her smile widens, her eyes twinkling. "When?"

"Tomorrow night. Case is done, you're not on call, it's perfect." She doesn't even bat an eye that he has her rotation memorized.

"Perfect," she echoes, sliding off the chair. "Are you sure we're not past a first date though?"

"Maybe," he concedes, pushing off the counter. "But it's classic. Nervously picking out clothes, flowers when I pick you up, flirting over dinner, kiss at the front door. Might be refreshing to do something in order for once."

"But isn't being unconventional kind of our thing?" she teases, stepping closer to him.

"Never hurts to try something new."

"Speaking of that, I do have one problem with your plan." He looks at her questioningly and she continues, "Do I really have to wait until tomorrow to kiss you?"

"Oh. Well, I guess that can be moved up in the timetable."

She doesn't wait until he's done talking, her arms twining around his neck, her lips pressed to his as soon as he says the last word. His arms slide around her waist, hands splayed wide at her back, bodies flush from thigh to chest, her mouth soft and warm. It ends far sooner than he would like, her hands moving to cradle his face as she pulls back.

"This doesn't mean I have to take that off tomorrow's plan, does it?" he asks, a little breathless.

"You better not," she answers, leaning in for another brief brush of lips. "Now go home. I'll see you tomorrow."

He reluctantly releases his hold on her, lets his hands linger longer than might be strictly necessary, dropping them only when she gives him an "I know what you're doing" look.

"7 okay?"

"It's perfect," she replies, a brilliant smile lighting up her face.

"Until tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow."

This time, the elevator doors close on her smiling broadly at him and he finds that he wants to stop the car and get out early for an entirely different reason than last time.

But he goes home and doesn't hate it this time. Because they have tomorrow.

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._

___A/N: If anyone started this story thinking that it was something other than "all the ways that they could have hooked up," I apologize, it's not. It's totally all the ways that they could have hooked up. And especially now, this far into the season, I'm having a hard time coming up with reasons why they shouldn't be together. So, basically, what I'm saying is, expect a lot more kissing from here on out. I'm sure plenty of you are fine with that._


	12. Poof You're Dead

_Summary: This is an alt-S3 story and explores how things would/could have gone differently if there were not significant others in the way. This will be told through a series of one-shots (or maybe two or three-shots depending on the episode) that will (most likely) not be related. (If they do relate to a previous chapter, that will be notated in the A/N at the beginning of the chapter.)_

_Ellie and Bee get all the blame that there's a kiss of any form in this chapter. Because there wasn't going to be._

* * *

**Poof! You're Dead**

* * *

She's torturing him. She's laid low since the summer, been polite and cordial. Maybe a little too polite and cordial now that he thinks about it. Maybe this has all been part of her long con.

Because Gina's sure making his life hell now.

He wasn't even doing anything at Le Cirque, just talking to an old friend of his that he ran into at the bar while he was getting his mother a cocktail, but Gina had to "come over to say hi" and make some snide remarks about him remembering Carlie's name even though he hadn't seen her in 10 years. He said his goodbyes and made his way back to his dinner dates, the rest of the celebration for Alexis's big chemistry test passing in peace.

He was in a good mood at the end of the night so when they happened to exit the restaurant at the same time, he held the door for Gina and her date. He was in the middle of thinking that it was nice to see her out, hoping that things were being put behind them when she turned to him, a little unsteady on her feet and slurred, "Still only fucking her in your dreams?"

He's not proud of the way he reacted, anger and a loud voice and a lot of things that he didn't mean but kind of actually did mean. When he got home and calmed down, he realized that it wasn't really characteristic of her either, was probably a product of the alcohol loosening a filter of things that she thinks but knows better than to say. He shot off a quick apology email before going to bed, kept it simple so as to not get off onto a tangent, confident that she would see that they both behaved inappropriately and feel the same remorse.

So when his phone rings the next morning on his way to the crime scene, he assumes that she's calling to agree and offer her own apology.

He could not be more wrong.

"Have you seen the Ledger?" she asks, her voice sharp as shattered glass.

"No, why?"

"Been a long time since you've been on Page Six, hasn't it?" is the only cryptic reply he gets as she unceremoniously ends the call.

He sighs and pockets the phone, stopping at the next newsstand he comes across to buy a copy of the paper with more than a little trepidation. He steps just to the other side of the stand and pulls the pages apart to find a picture of himself in Gina's face, their body posture and mouths open in fury leaving no doubt as to what is happening in front of the restaurant. He didn't even see the photographer though that might explain why Alexis started dragging him away with force.

Oh god, Alexis. He behaved like this in front of his daughter. She deserves an apology as well.

But first, he has a crime scene to get to, Beckett's expecting him.

* * *

This case is awesome. Tragic, of course, but awesome and he forgets all about Page Six for a couple of hours. Until his phone rings while it's in Beckett's hand and she turns it to show him the caller ID with a chuckle.

"Behind on a chapter again?" she asks as Gina seems to be mocking him from the screen.

"Something like that," he mutters, taking the phone from her and rejecting the call. At least that confirms that she hasn't seen the paper.

But then, Lanie.

If only he didn't needle her about her attire. If only she and Esposito would realize that everyone already knows so there's no need for subterfuge. But no, he has to say something while she has the perfect leverage against him. He's glad she's in a hurry and is willing to let it slide in order to fill them in on what she found and he can see that it gets Beckett's mind spinning on things that don't involve him and his ex-wife-slash-ex-girlfriend.

"So, trace the C4 or go workshop hunting?" he asks as they slide into the car. She still hasn't answered him as he clicks his seatbelt and he looks up to find her watching him with concern.

"You okay?" she asks.

"Yeah," he replies, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, not at all sure why she's asking him this.

"I just thought that things between you guys were pretty amicable."

He releases a breath out of his nose, his eyes dropping closed for a moment. "They…were," he says carefully, opening his eyes to find hers so soft and comforting that he almost tells her exactly what happened. Better to go with the amended version though. "We ran into her as we were leaving and she'd had a bit to drink and she knew what to say to get a rise out of me and I…didn't respond so great. I'm not proud of it, but it happened."

"What did she say?"

"Kate, I really don't wanna rehash it." Especially not with her. Especially since the fight was basically about her.

"Okay," she relents. "Sorry," she mutters, busying herself with starting the car.

But she has nothing to feel sorry for. He reaches out to take one of her hands, gaining her attention in the process, her eyes flicking from her hand in his to his face.

"You can always ask, don't ever feel sorry about that. But thank you for not pressuring me to talk about it."

Her face softens again, a gentle smile curving her mouth. "Of course, Castle. You're welcome."

In this moment, he hates that their relationship is this weird, nebulous thing. Because he's struck with an urge to reach out and curl a hand over her jaw, meet his mouth to hers softly in thanks. But instead, he squeezes her hand and smiles in return at her, can feel the warmth of the gesture stealing across his face, pooling in his eyes. She squeezes back in reply, dropping his hand to reach for her seatbelt before easing the car into the street.

* * *

His mother is curled into the corner of the sofa when he gets home, newspaper in hand. She glances at him over the top of the page, arching an eyebrow at him as she asks, "How mad is she?"

He actually thinks that she's talking about Kate for a minute. But why would Kate have reason to be mad about this? The caption doesn't indicate what the fight was about, not that most of what he and Gina were saying would make sense to people that don't know them. Oh. But Martha knows all involved parties and there's no way that she didn't understand exactly what was going on.

He flops onto the cushion next to her. "Which one?" he asks, too tired to even try to pretend that he doesn't know what she's asking.

"Let's start with Gina." She reaches out to place a hand on his forearm, her maternal affection drawing the conversation out of him easily.

"Very. I haven't talked to her since I've seen it but Black Pawn's PR people are working on downplaying it which isn't too hard since there's no relationship in shambles to report on this time."

"What happened there, kiddo? I thought you guys were gonna make a real try of it this time."

"We were. We _did_," he amends. "It was good. For a few days. But it was just ordinary and I don't want ordinary, I want…" He hesitates, dozens of different descriptors swirling in his head.

"Magic," Martha supplies with a dramatic wave of her hand.

"Yeah," he agrees, marveling at how perceptive his mother is.

"And what did Beckett say?" she asks gently, tipping the paper toward him lest he forgot what the conversation is regarding.

"She was worried about me, wanted to make sure that I was okay." He recalls the concern in her eyes, her care causing a fleeting smile.

"That fight was about her, wasn't it?" She hesitates to ask it, like she doesn't want to make him go through it again.

"Yeah," is his only reply. Because he doesn't want to go through it again.

"Honestly, Richard, I don't understand why you haven't just kissed that girl already." Out of other people it could have sounded like an admonishment but out of Martha's mouth, it just sounds like a foregone conclusion.

He wishes it felt more like one.

He drops his head back against the sofa and closes his eyes. He has no answer for his mother and he's grateful that she accepts the frustration laden silence as one.

* * *

"Hey, I was thinking," he starts the next morning as she swipes one of the coffee cups from his hand, her revelation about the workshop making him forget how that sentence was going to end.

He allows himself to be swept up into the case after that, tries hard to ignore the voice in the back of his head telling him that he's just using it as a way to not have to deal with Gina's pettiness or his feelings for Kate that he was pretty sure she didn't share but now isn't sure of much of anything at all.

Trying to figure out how and why Christian Dahl faked his death is far less complicated.

It's exhilarating when it clicks for him, Kate right there with him and they lay out the story in perfect succession, a symphony of details falling from their lips in harmony. She steps in as she talks, his body sways towards her and when the final piece of story is played, he feels it. That magic that his mother was talking about shining the very air around them. The spark and crackle of their repartee singing in his blood, reverberating in his ears.

But then she recoils, her brow wrinkling in confusion or thought or maybe a little of both. "What?" she asks, that single word dulling the sparkle of his joy.

He jerks back sharply as if he's been slapped, the smile dropping from his face. "Nothing," he mutters, turning back to the video, already trying to stuff down those feelings again.

But then her hand is on his arm, fingers squeezing lightly around his bicep and he forgets to breathe for a moment. He turns his head to her, finds that she's stepped in even closer than before but her eyes are dropped, pointedly fixed on where she's touching him like she can't believe she's doing that.

"Can I ask you something?" she asks, low enough that he's not sure he would have heard her if she was a step back.

"You can ask me anything, Kate." He whispers it but can't keep the yearning out of his voice.

She takes a breath, her eyes flicking up to meet his. "Were you still sleeping with her?"

"With? Gina?" He sputters the words out in separate sentences, his mind spinning but completely unable to follow her thoughts this time.

She nods, dropping her eyes again to pick at a non-existent piece of lint on his sleeve. "I just didn't know if it was a thing you did with your ex-wives or if that was a Meredith thing or…"

Whoa, whoa, whoa, he has got to put an end to this particular thought. He stands as she babbles, her hand dropping from his arm as his hands take up residence on hers. He dips his head to catch her eyes, her words trailing off as he does.

"No," he answers simply. "Why are you asking me this?"

She shrugs, her sweater rubbing against his fingertips with the rise and drop of her shoulders. "You guys seemed to be on good terms and I know you and Meredith get together," she pauses to wrinkle her nose in something that looks like disgust for a moment, "when she's in town and you seem to be on good terms with her so, I just thought maybe it was the same way with Gina and that kinda seemed like a lover's spat the other night and you know what? Just forget it that I said anything, I'm sorry." She moves to break away from him but no, that can't happen right now. He can't let her think like that when that's not who he is, certainly not how he wants her think about him. His hands tighten on her arms to keep her in place and she glares at him, opening her mouth to speak.

But he beats her to it. "First of all, again, no, I haven't still been sleeping with Gina. We broke up on not great terms but were able to still work together professionally. That fight the other night-" He stops to take a breath, slowly peels his fingers from her because he can't be touching her when he talks about this. She doesn't move away even though she could do so very easily right now and he's so grateful for that, for the fact that she's willing to listen. "That fight the other night," he starts again, "was the continuation of the breakup. It was something that we should have talked about at the time and didn't and then did so at a terrible time in a terrible way." He searches her face, releasing a breath when her eyes soften in understanding, her head gently bobbing in a nod. "I have no excuses for Meredith. It would probably take a psychologist to explain why I've continued to sleep with a woman that divorced me after she cheated on me."

Her eyes soften in pity and he immediately regrets saying that because he was really just trying to explain, he wasn't angling for sympathy. He angles away from her, dropping to sit on the edge of the table again. She reaches for one of his hands, slides her fingers against his palm. He wants to shake her off, doesn't need her pity but at the same time, he wants the comfort that pity is wrapped in and he finds his fingers curling around hers almost reflexively.

"Are you okay?" she asks in an echo of last night.

"I'm ignoring it," he replies honestly, a self-deprecating smile twisting his mouth for a fleeting moment.

"You need to talk about it?" The concern from last night is back as well.

Oh, this woman. What did he ever do right to have her in his life?

He shakes his head. "Thank you; honestly, I appreciate it, but I'll deal with it." Not that he doesn't want to talk to her but he's not so keen to talk to her about this.

She searches his face for a moment, like she's looking for the rest of the story that he's not sharing. But then she drops her eyes again, her chin falling and rising in a soft nod as if she's content with what she sees there.

His chest tightens with emotion, warm affection for how much he adores this woman taking up residence in his heart, spreading through his body with every pump of blood through the vessels. Before he can think too hard about it, he raises their joined hands to his mouth, presses his lips to her knuckles, allows them to linger there as he lifts his eyes to her and his heart stutters at the way she's looking at him. Her lips are slightly parted, chest rapidly rising and falling with shallow breaths, her eyes wide, pupils dilated. He can't quite decipher the emotion there, isn't sure if it's arousal or fear. Or both. Probably both. He knows how she feels.

It weakens him, this knowledge that they might be on the same page. His hand drops, hers coming with, landing with a soft thud on his thigh.

"Kate, I-" he stops, unsure what he was about to say; he just knows that he doesn't want to let this feeling go away, wants to hang on it somehow. So he turns to his craft but the words are elusive, the emotions that are swirling between them defying explanation.

"You guys find anything?" Esposito's voice is so unexpected that they both startle slightly which draws a chuckle from the man. "I interrupting something?" Kate's body is blocking his view of their hands, their close proximity (and serious vibe to the room) his only clue that something else is going on. She withdraws her hand from Castle's as she turns, one fluid movement that gives nothing away.

"Christian Dahl isn't dead," she gives as an answer to the first question, her declaration distracting Espo from the second.

That strikes Castle with an idea and soon they're all trying to figure out where the funeral is, agreeing to meet there the next morning. The four of them leave together, parting with goodbyes out front. He wants to call Kate back, wants to recapture that magical moment from earlier, but she's already walking away. She throws a smile over her shoulder at him, regret in the curve of her lips. He sighs, unsure how to go after her with the guys right there so he forces his mouth into a smile in response before turning to head home.

He remembers that look in her eyes, the catch in her breath and assures himself that it wasn't just a moment, that it won't vanish. And it won't take a magician to draw it out again.

* * *

He's still on a high from the interrogation, giddy that the plan worked and pretty proud at himself for playing along while Dahl thought he was being visited by Zalman's ghost. When Ryan comes over with paperwork, offering himself as a writing surface seems innocuous enough. But it's more intimate than it has any right to be. He's hyper aware of how close she is, can hear her breathe, feel her fingers pressed lightly into his back.

Kate asks about Esposito, her voice a little thready, just enough that people that know her might notice. Ryan probably does but he seems more keen to rib on his partner for how sneaky he's not.

But Castle feels the need to defend the budding relationship. "Well, let's let them keep thinking that a while longer. The bubble bursts soon enough." Like this fragile thing that he and Kate are in. This almost-could-maybe-be-something that has him kissing her hand where anyone could see. He doesn't want that to burst and he doesn't even know what it is.

"Not if you're in it with the right person," she says, the simple way she says it completely unexpected. When he turns she's handing the folder back to Ryan but her eyes slide over to him for the briefest of moments. He's sure he's looking at her dumbstruck but can't be bothered to wipe the look from his face. Doesn't want to if he's being honest. He wants her to know what she does to him, how in awe of her he is.

He's a hairsbreadth from speaking when his phone rings. He pulls the device out and is unsurprised to see that it's Gina. He sighs resignedly, excusing himself to take the call. She nods, gives him a pressed lipped smile that broadcasts encouragement from her eyes as he steps away. He's over taken again with the urge to kiss her, just to show her how glad he is for her. But he has to deal with this.

The call is…terrible. It's worse than any fight they had while they were married and this is supposed to be about business. It gets personal, things that Gina never brought up before now seeing the light of day, things that he thought he was long over being tossed in her face. He tries, he really tries to keep his voice down but he's sure he's not doing a great job at it.

He knows what needs to be done. He takes a deep breath, leans against the brick wall for support and plays a card that he hates playing. "Gina, we both know I don't need Black Pawn. There are plenty of other publishers that would love to have my name on their roster and I can't think of a reason why they shouldn't right now."

"You'd never-" she begins as a retort.

"I would," he says definitively. "Gina, you're fired. I'll have my lawyer look at my contract to figure out what needs done to dissolve the association and in the meantime, I want a different representative from the company to contact me. I will not talk to you about this – about anything – anymore."

She huffs and he hears the rustle of fabric, can imagine her sitting back in the office chair and crossing her arms over her chest. "I hope you're happy, Richard." Her tone indicates that she hopes anything but.

"I am," he answers, realizes that he really means it. The weight that's been sitting on his chest lifts, the dread bowing his spine recedes and he stands up tall, takes a deep breath and opens his eyes (when did those close?) to find Kate watching him from down the hall. She looks concerned, her eyebrows knitted together, but that support that she's been freely giving him is on her face as well.

Gina hasn't said anything, the phone a silent void at his ear. He has nothing else to say either so he lowers it, taps his thumb to the screen to end the call. Kate moves suddenly, purpose in her stride as she crosses the distance between them and puts her arms around him without hesitation, one hooking over the top of his shoulder, the other sliding around his waist.

He doesn't move, shock freezing his muscles, his senses invaded with Kate, her scent, her warmth, her body pressed to his. She stiffens when he doesn't respond and starts to pull back but that's not what he wants at all and he throws his arms around her, a little desperate, pulls her roughly against him again.

"You just surprised me," he mutters into her hair, his mouth near enough to her temple that he turns his head slightly to press a kiss there. "Thank you," he breathes into her skin, feels her sigh against his neck and tighten her arms in response. It's not private, not at all, people in the break room can glance out to see them, they're not blocked from anyone that's passing by in the adjacent hall but she doesn't seem to care. He clings to her, grateful for the solid touchstone that she's providing.

Oh god, _he just fired Black Pawn._

She must feel the change in him because her embrace gentles and she pulls back, not far, just enough to meet his eyes. "I was gonna go catch the comfort food truck, wanna join me?"

How does she know that's the exact kind of thing he needs right now? That's usually his thing but here she is, offering to fill a need that he didn't even realize that he had. He's overwhelmed, doesn't have words for her right now but that urge to kiss her wells up again and her face is _right there_ and he can't think of a reason why he shouldn't.

He crashes his mouth to hers, the kiss messy and inelegant. He keeps it brief, he's only trying to express his thankfulness after all, but they're both breathless when he breaks the connection, resting his forehead against hers. His heart is thrashing against his sternum, his brain not quite caught up, not quite believing that he just did that, that he kissed Kate Beckett.

"So, that's a yes?" she breathes, a tease in her voice.

He laughs, mirth bubbling out of his throat. "Yeah," he confirms, his simple answer blooming a smile across her face.

She takes a step back, one of her hands sliding down his arm, her fingers skimming the inside of his wrist. "C'mon," she says softly, beckoning him to follow with a twitch of her head.

He does, of course he does, because wants to see this out to – wants to be part of - the final reveal.

* * *

_I'd love to know what you think._


End file.
